~K££.Sf.    ^Qjf 


^nglisl)  Jtten  of  Ccttcrs 

EDITED  BY  JOHN  MORLEY 


SHERIDA-INT 


MRS.    OLIPHANT 


NEW    YORK 

HARPEK  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS 

FRANKLIN      SQUARE 

1883 


0*1 


ENGLISH   MEN   OF   LETTERS. 

Edited  by  John  Morley. 


Johnson Leslie  Stephen. 

Gibbon J.  C.  Morison. 

Scott R.  H.  Hutton. 

Shelley J.  A.  Symonds. 

Hume T.  H.  Huxley. 

Goldsmith William   Black. 

Defoe William  Minto. 

Burns J.  C.  Shairp. 

Spenser R.  W.  Church. 

Thackeray Anthony  Trollope. 

Burke John  Morley. 

Milton Mark  Pattison. 

Hawthorne Henry  James,  Jr. 

Southey E.  Dowden. 

Chaucer A.  W.  Ward. 

Bunyan J.  A.  Froude. 

Sheridan  .. 


Cowper Goldwin  Smith. 

Pope Leslie  Stephen. 

Byron John  Nichol. 

Locke Thomas  Fowler. 

Wordsworth F.  Myers. 

Dryden G.  Saintsbury. 

Landor Sidney  Colvin. 

De  Quincey David  Masson. 

Lamb Alfred  Ainger. 

Bentley R.  C.  Jebb. 

Dickens A.  W.  Ward. 

Gray E.  W.  Gosse. 

Swift Leslie  Stephen. 

Sterne H.  D.  Traill. 

Macaulay J.  Cotter  Morison. 

Fielding Austin  Dobson. 

.Mrs.  Oliphant. 


i2mo,  Cloth,  75  cents  per  volume. 


Published  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  York. 

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NOTE. 


The  most  important  and,  on  the  whole,  trustworthy  life  of 
Sheridan  is  that  of  Moore,  published  in  1825,  nine  years  after 
Sheridan's  death,  and  founded  upon  the  fullest  information, 
with  the  help  of  all  that  Sheridan  had  left  behind  in  the 
way  of  papers,  and  all  that  the  family  could  furnish — along 
with  Moore's  own  personal  recollections.  It  is  not  a  very 
characteristic  piece  of  work,  and  greatly  dissatisfied  the 
friends  and  lovers  of  Sheridan ;  but  its  authorities  are  un- 
impeachable. A  previous  Memoir  by  Dr.  Watkins,  the  work 
of  a  political  opponent  and  detractor,  was  without  either 
this  kind  of  authorisation  or  any  grace  of  personal  knowl- 
edge, and  has  fallen  into  oblivion.  Very  different  is  the 
brief  sketch  by  the  well-known  Professor  Smyth,  a  most  val- 
uable and  interesting  contribution  to  the  history  of  Sheridan. 
It  concerns,  indeed,  only  the  later  part  of  his  life,  but  it  is  the 
most  life-like  and,  under  many  aspects,  the  most  touching 
contemporary  portrait  that  has  been  made  of  him.  With 
the  professed  intention  of  making  up  for  the  absence  of  char- 
acter in  Moore's  Life,  a  small  volume  of  Sheridaniana  was 
published  the  year  after,  which  is  full  of  amusing  anecdotes, 
but  little,  if  any,  additional  information.  Other  essays  on 
the  subject  have  been  many.  Scarcely  an  edition  of  Sher- 
idan's plays  has  been  published  (and  they  are  numberless) 
without  a  biographical  notice,  good  or  bad.  The  most 
noted  of  these  is  perhaps  the  Biographical  and  Critical  Sketch 


vi  NOTE. 

of  Leigh  Hunt,  which  docs  not,  however,  pretend  to  any  new 
light,  and  is  entirely  unsympathetic.  Much  more  recently  a 
book  of  personal  Recollections  by  an  Octogenarian  promised  to 
afford  new  information ;  but,  except  for  the  froth  of  certain 
dubious  and  not  very  savoury  stories  of  the  Prince  Regent 
period,  failed  to  do  so. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAGE 

His  Youth 1 


CHAPTER  II. 
His  First  Dramatic  Works ' 43 

CHAPTER  III. 
The  "School  for  Scandal" 73 

CHAPTER  IV. 
Public  Life 112 

CHAPTER  V. 
Middle  Age 144 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Decadence 167 


JfflVERSm 

RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN. 


:  .         »-.*;* 


CHAPTER  l\ 

HIS    YOUTH. 

Richard  Brinsley  Butler  Sheridan  was  born  in  Dub- 
lin, in  the  month  of  September,  1751,  of  a  family  which 
had  already  acquired  some  little  distinction  of  a  kind  quite 
harmonious  with  the  after  fame  of  him  who  made  its  name 
so  familiar  to  the  world.  The  Sheridans  were  of  that  An- 
glo-Irish type  which  has  given  so  much  instruction  and 
amusement  to  the  world,  and  which  has  indeed  in  its  wit 
and  eccentricity  so  associated  itself  with  the  fame  of  its 
adopted  country,  that  we  might  almost  say  it  is  from  this 
peculiar  variety  of  the  race  that  we  have  all  taken  our 
idea  of  the  national  character.  It  will  be  a  strange  thing 
to  discover,  after  so  many  years'  identification  of  the  idio- 
syncrasy as  Irish,  that  in  reality  it  is  a  hybrid,  and  not  na- 
tive to  the  soil.  The  race  of  brilliant,  witty,  improvident, 
and  reckless  Irishmen  whom  we  have  all  been  taught  to 
admire,  excuse,  love,  and  condemn — the  Goldsmiths,  the 
Sheridans,  and  many  more  that  will  occur  to  the  reader — ■ 
all  belong  to  this  mingled  blood.  Many  are  more  Irish, 
according  to  our  present  understanding  of  the  word,  than 
their  compatriots  of  a  purer  race ;  but  perhaps  it  is  some- 
1* 


2  RrCHARD  BRIXSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

thing  of  English  energy  which  has  brought  them  to  the 
front,  to  the  surface,  with  an  indomitable  life  which  mis- 
fortune and  the  most  reckless  defiance  of  all  the  laws  of  liv- 
ing never  seem  able  to  quench.  Among  these  names,  and 
not  among  the  O'Connors  and  O'Briens,  do  we  find  all  that 
is  most  characteristic,  to  modern  ideas,  in  Irish  manners 
and  modes  of  thought.  Nothing  more  distinct  from  the 
Anglo-Saxon  type  could  be ;  and  yet  it  is  separated  from 
E.igland  in  mos'  cases  only  by  an  occasional  mixture  of 
Celtic  blood — often  by  Ihe  simple  fact  of  establishment 
fc>  a  few  generation^  on  another  soil.  How  it  is  that  the 
bog  and  the  mountain,  the  softer  climate,  the  salt  breath 
of  the  Atlantic,  should  have  wrought  this  change,  is  a 
mystery  of  ethnology  which  we  are  quite  incompetent  to 
solve ;  or  whether  it  is  mere  external  contact  with  an  in- 
fluence which  the  native  gives  forth  without  being  himself 
strongly  affected  by  it,  we  cannot  tell.  But  the  fact  re- 
mains that  the  most  characteristic  Irishmen — those  through 
whom  we  recognize  the  race — are,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  so 
far  as  race  is  concerned,  not  Irishmen  at  all.  The  same 
fact  tells  in  America,  where  a  new  type  of  character  seems 
to  have  been  ingrafted  upon  the  old  by  the  changed  con- 
ditions of  so  vast  a  continent  and  circumstances  so  pecul- 
iar. Even  this,  however,  is  not  so  remarkable,  in  an  alto- 
gether new  societ}r,  as  the  absorption,  by  what  was  in  real- 
ity an  alien  and  a  conquering  race,  of  all  that  is  most 
remarkable  in  the  national  character  which  they  domi- 
nated and  subdued — unless,  indeed,  we  take  refuge  in  the 
supposition,  which  does  not  seem  untenable,  that  this  char- 
acter, which  we  have  been  so  hasty  in  identifying  with  it, 
is  not  really  Irish  at  all ;  and  that  we  have  not  yet  fath- 
omed the  natural  spirit,  overlaid  by  such  a  couche  of  super- 
ficial foreign  brilliancy,  of  that  more  mystic  race,  full  of 


i]  HIS  YOUTH.  3 

tragic  elements,  of  visionary  faith  and  purity,  of  wild  re- 
venge and  subtle  cunning,  which  is  in  reality  native  to  the 
old  island  of  the  saints.  Certainly  the  race  of  Columba 
seems  to  have  little  in  common  with  the  race  of  Sheridan. 
The  two  immediate  predecessors  of  the  great  dramatist 
are  both  highly  characteristic  figures,  and  thoroughly  au- 
thentic, which  is  as  much  perhaps  as  any  man  of  letters 
need  care  for.  The  first  of  these,  Dr.  Thomas  Sheridan, 
Brinsley  Sheridan's  grandfather,  was  a  clergyman  and 
schoolmaster  in  Dublin  in  the  early  part  of  the  eighteenth 
century — by  all  reports  an  excellent  scholar  and  able  in- 
structor, but  extravagant  and  hot-headed  after  his  kind. 
He  was  the  intimate  friend  and  associate  of  Swift  in  his 
later  years,  and  lent  a  little  brightness  to  the  great  Dean's 
society  when  he  returned  disappointed  to  his  Irish  prefer- 
ment. Lord  Orrery  describes  this  genial  but  reckless  par- 
son in  terms  which  are  entirely  harmonious  with  the  after 
development  of  the  family  character : 

"  He  had  that  kind  of  good  nature  which  absence  of  mind,  indo- 
lence of  body,  and  carelessness  of  fortune  produce ;  and  although 
not  over-strict  in  his  own  conduct,  yet  he  took  care  of  the  morality 
of  his  scholars,  whom  he  sent  to  the  university  remarkably  well- 
grounded  in  all  kinds  of  learning,  and  not  ill-instructed  in  the  social 
duties  of  life.  He  was  slovenly,  indigent,  and  cheerful.  He  knew 
books  better  than  men,  and  he  knew  the  value  of  money  least  of  all." 

The  chief  point  in  Dr.  Sheridan's  career  is  of  a  tragi- 
comic character  which  still  further  increases  the  appro- 
priateness of  his  appearance  at  the  head  of  his  descend- 
ants. By  Swift's  influence  he  was  appointed  to  a  living  in 
Cork,  in  addition  to  which  he  wTas  made  one  of  the  Lord- 
lieutenant's  chaplains,  and  thus  put  in  the  way  of  promo- 
tion generally.  But  on  one  unlucky  Sunday  the  follow- 
ing incident  occurred.     It  must  be  remembered  that  these 


4  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

were  the  early  clays  of  the  Hanoverian  succession,  and  that 
Ireland  had  been  the  scene  of  the  last  struggle  for  the 
Stuarts.  He  was  preaching  in  Cork,  in  the  principal 
church  of  the  town,  on  the  1st  of  August,  which  was  kept 
as  the  King's  birthday : 

"  Dr.  Sheridan,  after  a  very  solemn  preparation,  and  when  he  had 
drawn  to  himself  the  mute  attention  of  his  congregation,  slowly  and 
emphatically  delivered  his  text,  Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil 
thereof.  The  congregation,  being  divided  in  political  opinions,  gave 
to  the  text  a  decided  political  construction,  and  on  the  reverend 
preacher  again  reading  the  text  with  more  marked  emphasis  became 
excited,  and  listened  to  the  sermon  with  considerable  restlessness 
and  anxiety." 

Another  account  describes  this  sermon  as  having  been 
preached  before  the  Lord -lieutenant  himself,  an  honour 
for  which  the  preacher  was  not  prepared,  and  which  con- 
fused him  so  much  that  he  snatched  up  the  first  sermon 
that  came  to  hand,  innocent  of  all  political  intention,  as 
well  as  of  the  date  which  gave  such  piquancy  to  his  text. 
But,  whatever  the  cause,  the  effect  was  disastrous.  He 
"  shot  his  fortune  dead  by  chance-medley  "  with  this  single 
text.  He  lost  his  chaplaincy,  and  is  even  said  to  have 
been  forbidden  the  viceregal  court,  and  all  the  ways  of 
promotion  were  closed  to  him  for  ever.  But  his  spirit 
was  not  broken  by  his  evil  luck.  "Still  he  remained  a 
punster,  a  quibbler,  a  fiddler,  and  a  wit.  Not  a  day 
passed  without  a  rebus,  an  anagram,  or  a  madrigal.  His 
pen  and  his  fiddle  were  constantly  in  motion."  He  had 
"  such  a  ready  wit  and  flow  of  humour  that  it  was  impos- 
sible for  any,  even  the  most  splenetic  man,  not  to  be  cheer- 
ful in  his  company."  "  In  the  invitations  sent  to  the  Dean, 
Sheridan  was  always  included ;  nor  was  Swift  to  be  seen 
in  perfect  good  humour  unless  when  he  made  part  of  the 


I.]  HIS  YOUTH.  5 

company."  Nothing  could  be  more  congenial  to  the  name 
of  Sheridan  than  the  description  of  this  light-hearted  and 
easy-minded  clerical  humorist,  whose  wit  no  doubt  flashed 
like  lightning  about  all  the  follies  of  the  mimic  court  which 
had  cast  him  out,  and  whose  jovial,  hand-to-mouth  exist- 
ence had  all  that  accidentalness  and  mixture  of  extrava- 
gance and  penury  which  is  the  natural  atmosphere  of  such 
reckless  souls.  It  is  even  said  that  Swift  made  use  of  his 
abilities  and  appropriated  his  wit:  the  reader  must  judge 
for  himself  whether  the  Dean  had  any  need  of  thieving 
in  that  particular. 

Dr.  Sheridan's  son,  Thomas  Sheridan,  was  a  very  differ- 
ent man.  He  was  very  young  when  he  was  left  to  make 
his  way  in  the  world  for  himself ;  he  had  been  designed, 
it  would  appear,  to  be  a  schoolmaster,  like  his  father ;  but 
the  stage  has  always  had  an  attraction  for  those  whose  as- 
sociations are  connected  with  that  more  serious  stage,  the 
pulpit,  and  Thomas  Sheridan  became  an  actor.  He  is  the 
author  of  a  life  of  Swift,  said  to  be  "  pompous  and  dull " 
— qualities  which  seem  to  have  mingled  oddly  in  his  own 
character  with  the  light-hearted  recklessness  of  his  race. 
His  success  on  the  stage  was  not  so  great  as  was  his  pop- 
ularity as  a  teacher  of  elocution,  an  art  for  which  he  seems 
to  have  conceived  an  almost  fanatical  enthusiasm.  Con- 
sidering oratory,  not  without  reason,  as  the  master  of  all 
arts,  he  spent  a  great  part  of  his  life  in  eager  efforts  to 
form  a  school  for  its  study,  after  a  method  of  his  own. 
This  was  not  a  successful  project,  nor,  according  to  the  lit- 
tle gleam  of  light  thrown  upon  his  system  by  Dr.  Parr, 
does  it  seem  to  have  been  a  very  elevated  one.  "  One  of 
Richard's  sisters  now  and  then  visited  Harrow,"  he  says, 
"  and  well  do  I  remember  that  in  the  house  where  I  lodged 
she  triumphantly  repeated  Dryden's  ode  upon  St.  Cecilia's 


6  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

Day,  according  to  the  instruction  given  her  by  her  father. 
Take  a  sample : 

'  None  but  the  brave, 
None  but  the  brave, 
None  but  the  brave  deserve  the  fair.' " 

Thomas  Sheridan,  however,  was  not  without  apprecia- 
tion as  an  actor,  and,  like  every  ambitious  player  of  the 
time,  had  his  hopes  of  rivalling  Garrick,  and  was  fondly 
considered  by  his  friends  to  be  worthy  comparison  with 
that  king  of  actors.  He  married  a  lady  who  held  no  in- 
considerable place  in  the  light  literature  of  the  time,  which 
was  little,  as  yet,  invaded  by  feminine  adventure  —  the 
author  of  a  novel  called  Sidney  Biddulph  and  of  various 
plays.  And  there  is  a  certain  reflection  of  the  same  kind 
of  friendship  which  existed  between  Swift  and  the  elder 
Sheridan  in  Boswell's  description,  in  his  Life  of  Johnson, 
of  the  loss  his  great  friend  had  sustained  through  a  quarrel 
with  Thomas  Sheridan,  "  of  one  of  his  most  agreeable  re- 
sources for  amusement  in  his  lonely  evenings."  It  would 
appear  that  at  this  time  (1763)  Sheridan  and  his  wife 
were  settled  in  London  : 

"  Sheridan's  well-informed,  animated,  and  bustling  mind  never  suf- 
fered conversation  to  stagnate,"  Boswell  adds,  "  and  Mrs.  Sheridan 
was  a  most  agreeable  companion  to  an  intellectual  man.  She  was 
sensible,  ingenious,  unassuming,  yet  communicative.  I  recollect  with 
satisfaction  many  pleasing  hours  winch  I  passed  with  her  under  the 
hospitable  roof  of  her  husband,  who  was  to  me  a  very  kind  friend. 
Her  novel  entitled  Memoirs  of  Miss  Sidney  Biddulph  contains  an  ex- 
cellent moral,  while  it  inculcates  a  future  state  of  retribution;  and 
what  it  teaches  is  impressed  upon  the  mind  by  a  series  of  as  deep 
distresses  as  can  afflict  humanity  in  the  amiable  and  pious  heroine. 
.  .  .  Johnson  paid  her  this  high  compliment  upon  it:  'I  know  not, 
madam,  that  you  have  a  right  upon  high  principles  to  make  your 
readers  suffer  so  much.'  " 


l]  HIS  YOUTH.  7 

The  cause  of  Johnson's  quarrel  with  Sheridan  is  said  to 
have  been  some  slighting  words  reported  to  the  latter, 
which  Johnson  had  let  fall  when  he  heard  that  Sheridan 
had  received  a  pension  of  £200  a  year  from  Government. 
"What!  have  they  given  him  a  pension?  Then  it  is  time 
for  me  to  give  up  mine" — a  not  unnatural  cause  of  offence, 
and  all  the  more  so  that  Sheridan  flattered  himself  he  had, 
by  his  interest  with  certain  members  of  the  ministry,  who 
had  been  his  pupils,  helped  to  procure  his  pension  for 
Johnson  himself. 

These  were  the  palmy  days  of  the  Sheridan  family. 
Their  children,  of  whom  Richard  was  the  third,  had  been 
born  in  Dublin,  where  the  two  little  boys,  Richard  and  his 
elder  brother,  Charles,  began  their  education  under  the 
charge  of  a  schoolmaster  named  Whyte,  to  whom  they 
were  committed  with  a  despairing  letter  from  their  mother, 
who  evidently  had  found  the  task  of  their  education  too 
much  for  her.  Perhaps  Mrs.  Sheridan,  in  an  age  of  epi- 
grams, was  not  above  the  pleasure,  so  seductive  to  all  who 
possess  the  gift,  of  writing  a  clever  letter.  She  tells  the 
schoolmaster  that  the  little  pupils  she  is  sending  him  will 
be  his  tutors  in  the  excellent  quality  of  patience.  "  I  have 
hitherto  been  their  only  instructor,"  she  says,  "  and  they 
have  sufficiently  exercised  mine,  for  two  such  impenetrable 
dunces  I  never  met  with."  This  is  the  first  certificate  with 
which  the  future  wit  and  dramatist  appeared  before  the 
world.  When  the  parents  went  to  London,  in  1*762,  the 
boys  naturally  accompanied  them.  And  this  being  a  time 
of  prosperity,  when  Thomas  Sheridan  had  Cabinet  Minis- 
ters for  his  pupils,  and  interest  enough  to  help  the  great 
man  of  letters  of  the  age  to  a  pension,  it  is  not  to  be  won- 
dered if  that  hope  which  never  springs  eternal  in  any  hu- 
man breast  so  warmly  as  in  that  of  a  man  who  lives  by  his 


8  RICHARD  BRIXSLEY  SHERIDAX.  [chap. 

wits,  and  never  knows  what  the  morrow  may  bring  forth, 
should  have  so  encouraged  the  vivacious  Irishman  as  to  in- 
duce him  to  send  his  boys  to  Harrow,  proud  to  give  them 
the  best  of  education,  and  opportunity  of  making  friends 
for  themselves.  His  pension,  his  pupils,  his  acting,  his 
wife's  literary  gains,  all  conjoined  to  give  a  promise  of 
prosperity.  When  his  friends  discussed  him  behind  his 
back  it  is  true  they  were  not  very  favourable  to  him. 
"  There  is  to  be  seen  in  Sheridan  something  to  reprehend, 
and  everything  to  laugh  at,"  says  Johnson,  in  his  "  big 
bow-wow  style ;"  "  but,  sir,  he  is  not  a  bad  man.  No,  sir : 
were  mankind  to  be  divided  into  good  and  bad,  he  would 
stand  considerably  within  the  ranks  of  the  good."  The 
same  authority  said  of  him  that  though  he  could  "  exhibit 
no  character,"  yet  he  excelled  in  "  plain  declamation  ;"  and 
he  was  evidently  received  in  very  good  society,  and  was 
hospitable  and  entertained  his  friends,  as  it  was  his  nature 
to  do.  Evidently,  too,  he  had  no  small  opinion  of  him- 
self. It  is  from  Johnson's  own  mouth  that  the  following- 
anecdote  at  once  of  his  liberality  and  presumption  is  de- 
rived. It  does  not  show  his  critic,  perhaps,  in  a  more 
favourable  light : 

"  Sheridan  is  a  wonderful  admirer  of  the  tragedy  of  Douglas,  and 
presented  its  author  with  a  gold  medal.  Some  years  ago,  at  a  coffee- 
house in  Oxford,  I  called  to  him,  '  Mr.  Sheridan,  Mr.  Sheridan !  how 
came  you  to  give  a  gold  medal  to  Home  for  writing  that  horrid  play '?' 
This  you  see  was  wanton  and  insolent;  but  I  meant  to  be  wanton 
and  insolent.  A  medal  has  no  value  but  as  a  stamp  of  merit,  and 
was  Sheridan  to  assume  to  himself  the  right  of  giving  that  stamp? 
If  Sheridan  was  magnificent  enough  to  bestow  a  gold  medal  as  an 
honorary  mark  of  dramatic  merit,  he  should  have  requested  one  of 
the  Universities  to  choose  the  person  on  whom  it  should  be  con- 
ferred. Sheridan  had  no  right  to  give  a  stamp  of  merit;  it  was 
counterfeiting  Apollo's  coin." 


i.]  HIS  YOUTH.  9 

The  Irishman's  vanity,  prodigality,  and  hasty  assump- 
tion of  an  importance  to  which  he  had  no  right  could 
scarcely  be  better  exemplified — nor,  perhaps,  the  reader 
will  say,  the  privileged  arrogance  of  the  great  critic.  It  is 
more  easy  to  condone  the  careless  extravagance  of  the  one 
than  the  deliberate  insolence  of  the  other.  The  comment, 
however,  is  just  enough  ;  and  so,  perhaps,  was  his  descrip- 
tion of  the  Irishman's  attempt  to  improve  the  elocution 
of  his  contemporaries.  "  What  influence  can  Mr.  Sheridan 
have  upon  the  language  of  this  great  country  by  his  narrow 
exertions?"  asks  the  great  lexicographer.  "  Sir,  it  is  burn- 
ing a  candle  at  Dover  to  show  light  at  Calais."  But  when 
Johnson  says,  "Sir,  Sherry  is  dull,  naturally  dull:  but  it 
must  have  taken  him  a  great  deal  of  pains  to  become  what 
we  now  see  him.  Such  an  excess  of  stupidity,  sir,  is  not 
in  nature" — we  acknowledge  the  wit,  but  doubt  the  fact. 
Thomas  Sheridan  very  likely  wanted  humour,  and  was 
unable  to  perceive  when  he  made  himself  ridiculous,  as  in 
the  case  of  the  medal ;  but  we  want  a  great  deal  more  evi- 
dence to  induce  us  to  believe  that  the  son  of  the  jovial 
Dublin  priest,  and  the  father  of  Sheridan  the  great,  could 
have  been  dull.  He  was  very  busy — "  bustling,"  as  Bos- 
well  calls  him,  his  schemes  going  to  his  head,  his,  vanity 
and  enthusiasm  combined  making  him  feel  himself  an  un- 
appreciated reformer — a  prophet  thrown  away  upon  an 
ungrateful  age.  But  stupidity  had  nothing  to  do  with  his 
follies.  He  was  "  a  wrong-headed,  whimsical  man,"  Dr. 
Parr  tells  us,  but  adds,  "I  respected  him,  and  he  really 
liked  me  and  did  me  some  important  services."  "  I  once 
or  twice  met  his  (Richard  Sheridan's)  mother:  she  was 
quite  celestial."  Such  are  the  testimonies  of  their  con- 
temporaries. 

It  was  not  long,  however,  that  the  pair  were  able  to  re- 


10  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

main  in  London.  There  is  a  whimsical  indication  of  the 
state  of  distress  into  which  Thomas  Sheridan  soon  fell  in 
the  mention  by  Boswell  of  "  the  extraordinary  attention 
in  his  own  country  "  with  which  he  had  been  "  honoured," 
by  having  had  "  an  exception  made  in  his  favour  in  an 
Irish  Act  of  Parliament  concerning  insolvent  debtors." 
"  Thus  to  be  singled  out,"  says  Johnson,  "  by  Legislature 
as  an  object  of  public  consideration  and  kindness  is  a 
proof  of  no  common  merit."  It  was  a  melancholy  kind 
of  proof,  however,  and  one  which  few  would  choose  to  be 
gratified  by.  The  family  went  to  France,  leaving  their 
boys  at  Harrow,  scraping  together  apparently  as  much  as 
would  pay  their  expenses  there — no  small  burden  upon  a 
struggling  man.  And  at  Blois,  in  1766,  Mrs.  Sheridan 
died.  "  She  appears,"  says  Moore,  "  to  have  been  one  of 
those  rare  women  who,  united  to  men  of  more  pretensions 
but  less  real  intellect  than  themselves,  meekly  conceal  this 
superiority  even  from  their  own  hearts,  and  pass  their  lives 
without  a  remonstrance  or  murmur  in  gently  endeavour- 
ing to  repair  those  evils  which  the  indiscretion  or  vanity 
of  their  partners  have  brought  upon  them."  Except  that 
she  found  him  at  seven  an  impenetrable  dunce,  there  is 
no  record  of  any  tie  of  sympathy  existing  between  Mrs. 
Sheridan  and  her  brilliant  boy. 

He  had  not  perhaps,  indeed,  ever  appeared  in  this  char- 
acter during  his  mother's  lifetime.  At  Harrow  he  made 
but  an  unsatisfactory  appearance.  "  There  was  little  in 
his  boyhood  worth  communication,"  says  Dr.  Parr,  whose 
long  letter  on  the  subject  all  Sheridan's  biographers  quote; 
"  he  was  inferior  to  many  of  his  schoolfellows  in  the  ordi- 
nary business  of  a  school,  and  I  do  not  remember  any  one 
instance  in  which  he  distinguished  himself  by  Latin  or 
English  composition,  either  in  prose  or  verse."     This  is 


i.]  HIS  YOUTH.  11 

curious  enough ;  but  it  is  not  impossible  that  the  wayward 
boy,  if  he  did  adventure  himself  in  verse,  would  think  it 
best  to  keep  his  youthful  compositions  sacred  from  a  mas- 
ter's eye.  Verse  writers,  both  in  the  dead  languages  and 
in  the  living,  flourished  at  Harrow  in  those  days  of  whom 
no  one  has  heard  since,  "  but  Richard  Sheridan  aspired  to 
no  rivalry  with  either  of  them."  Notwithstanding  this 
absence  of  all  the  outward  show  of  talent,  Parr  was  not  a 
man  to  remain  unconscious  of  the  glimmer  of  genius  in 
the  Irish  boy's  bright  eyes.  "When  he  found  that  Dick 
would  not  construe  as  he  ought,  he  laid  plans  to  take  him 
with  craft,  and  "  did  not  fail  to  probe  and  tease  him" : 

"  I  stated  his  case  with  great  good  humour  to  the  upper  master, 
who  was  one  of  the  best  tempered  men  in  the  world :  and  it  was 
agreed  between  us  that  Richard  should  be  called  of  tener  and  worked 
more  severely.  The  varlet  was  not  suffered  to  stand  up  in  his  place, 
but  was  summoned  to  take  his  station  near  the  master's  table,  where 
the  voice  of  no  prompter  could  reach  him ;  and  in  this  defenceless 
condition  he  was  so  harassed  that  he  at  last  gathered  up  some 
grammatical  rules  and  prepared  himself  for  his  lessons.  While  this 
tormenting  process  was  inflicted  upon  him  I  now  and  then  upbraided 
him.  But  you  will  take  notice  that  he  did  not  incur  any  corporal 
punishment  for  his  idleness :  his  industry  was  just  sufficient  to  keep 
him  from  disgrace.  All  the  while  Sumner  and  I  saw  in  him  vestiges 
of  a  superior  intellect.  His  eye,  his  countenance,  his  general  man- 
ner, were  striking ;  his  answers  to  any  common  question  were  prompt 
and  acute.  We  knew  the  esteem  and  even  admiration  which  some- 
how or  other  all  his  schoolfellows  felt  for  him.  He  was  mischievous 
enough,  but  his  pranks  were  accompanied  by  a  sort  of  vivacity  and 
cheerfulness  which  delighted  Sumner  and  myself.  I  had  much  talk 
with  him  about  his  apple  loft,  for  the  supply  of  which  all  the  gardens 
in  the  neighbourhood  were  taxed,  and  some  of  the  lower  boys  were 
employed  to  furnish  it.  I  threatened,  but  without  asperity,  to  trace 
the  depredators  through  his  associates  up  to  the  leader.  He  with 
perfect  good  humour  set  me  at  defiance,  and  I  never  could  bring  home 
the  charge  to  him.     All  boys  and  all  masters  were  pleased  with  him." 


12  RICHARD  BRIXSLEY  SIIERIDAX.  [chap. 

The  amount  of  "good  humour"  in  this  sketch  is 
enough  to  make  the  Harrow  of  last  century  look  like  a 
paradise;  and  the  humorous  torture  to  which  young 
Sheridan  was  subjected  shows  a  high  sense  of  the 
appropriate  either  in  "  the  best  tempered  man  in  the 
world,"  or  in  the  learned  doctor  who  loved  to  set  forth 
his  own  doings  and  judgment  in  the  best  light,  and 
had  the  advantage  of  telling  his  story  after  events  had 
shown  what  the  pupil  was.  Parr,  however,  modestly 
disowns  the  credit  of  having  developed  the  intellectual 
powers  of  Sheridan,  and  neither  were  they  stimulated  into 
literary  effort  by  Sumner,  the  head-master  of  Harrow,  who 
was  a  friend  of  his  father,  and  had,  therefore,  additional 
opportunities  of  knowing  the  boy's  capabilities.  "We 
both  of  us  discovered  great  talents  which  neither  of  us 
were  capable  of  calling  into  action  while  Sheridan  was  a 
schoolboy,"  Parr  says.  In  short,  it  is  evident  that  the 
boy,  always  popular  and  pleasant,  amusing  and  attracting 
his  schoolfellows,  and  on  perfectly  amicable  terms  with 
the  masters,  even  when  he  was  doubtful  about  his  lesson, 
took  no  trouble  whatever  with  his  work,  and  cared  nothing 
for  the  honours  of  school.  He  kept  himself  afloat,  and 
that  was  all.  His  sins  were  not  grievous  in  any  way.  He 
had  it  not  in  his  power  to  be  extravagant,  for  Thomas 
Sheridan  in  his  bankrupt  condition  must  have  had  hard 
enough  ado  to  keep  his  boys  at  Harrow  at  all.  But  it  is 
very  clear  that  neither  scholarship  nor  laborious  mental 
exertion  of  any  kind  tempted  him.  He  took  the  world 
lightly  and  gaily,  and  enjoyed  his  schoolboy  years  all  the 
more  that  there  was  nothing  of  the  struggle  of  young  am- 
bition in  them.  When  his  family  came  back  from  France, 
shortly  after  the  mother's  death,  it  is  with  a  little  gush  of 
enthusiasm  that  his  sister  describes  her  first  meeting  after 


i]  HIS  YOUTH.  13 

long  separation  with  the  delightful  brother  whom  she  had 
half-forgotten,  and  who  appears  like  a  young  hero  in  all 
the  early  bloom  of  seventeen,  with  his  Irish  charm  and  his 
Harrow  breeding,  to  the  eyes  of  the  little  girl,  accustomed, 
no  doubt,  to  shabby  enough  gentlemen  in  the  cheap  re- 
treats of  English  poverty  in  France  : 

"  He  was  handsome,  not  merely  in  the  eyes  of  a  partial  sister,  but 
generally  allowed  to  be  so.  His  cheeks  had  the  glow  of  health,  his 
eyes — the  finest  in  the  world — the  brilliancy  of  genius,  and  were  soft 
as  a  tender  and  affectionate  heart  could  render  them.  The  same 
playful  fancy,  the  same  sterling  and  innoxious  wit  that  was  shown 
afterwards  in  his  writings,  cheered  and  delighted  the  family  circle. 
I  admired — I  almost  adored  him !" 

No  doubt  the  handsome,  merry  boy  was  a  delightful 
novelty  in  the  struggling  family,  where  even  the  girls  were 
taught  to  mouth  verses,  and  the  elder  brother  had  begun 
to  accompany  his  father  on  his  half-vagabond  career  as  a 
lecturer,  to  give  examples  of  the  system  of  elocution  upon 
which  he  had  concentrated  all  his  faculties.  After  a  short 
stay  in  London  the  family  went  to  Bath,  where  for  a  time 
they  settled,  the  place  in  its  high  days  of  fashion  being  pro- 
pitious to  all  the  arts.  The  father,  seldom  at  home,  lived 
a  hard  enough  life,  lecturing,  teaching,  sometimes  playing, 
pursuing  his  favourite  object  as  hotly  as  was  practicable 
through  all  the  struggles  necessary  to  get  a  living,  such  as 
it  was,  now  abundant,  now  meagre,  for  his  family;  while 
the  girls  and  boys  lived  a  sort  of  hap-hazard  existence  in 
the  gay  city,  getting  what  amusement  they  could — mother- 
less, and  left  to  their  own  resources,  yet  finding  society  of 
a  sufficiently  exciting  kind  among  the  visitors  with  whom 
the  town  overflowed,  and  the  artist-folk  who  entertained 
them.  Here,  while  Charles  worked  with  his  father,  Richard 
would  seem  to  have  done  nothing  at  all,  but  doubtless 


14  RICHARD  BRIXSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

strolled  about  the  fashionable  promenade  among  the  bucks 
and  beaux,  and  heard  all  that  was  going  on,  and  saw  the 
scandal-makers  nod  their  heads  together,  and  the  officers 
now  and  then  arrange  a  duel,  and  Lydia  Languish  ransack 
the  circulating  libraries.  They  were  all  about  in  those 
lively  streets,  Mrs.  Malaprop  deranging  her  epitaphs,  and 
Sir  Lucius  with  his  pistols  always  ready,  and  the  little 
waiting-maid  tripping  about  the  scene  with  Delia's  letters 
and  Broken  Vows  under  her  arm.  The  young  gentleman 
swao-o-erino;  amono-  them  saw  everything  without  knowing 
it,  and  remembered  those  familiar  figures  when  the  time 
came  ;  but  in  the  meanwhile  did  nothing,  living  pleasantly 
with  his  young  sisters,  no  doubt  very  kind  to  them,  and 
spending  all  the  money  the  girls  could  spare  out  of  their 
little  housekeeping,  and  falling  in  love,  the  most  natural 
amusement  of  all. 

It  is  wrong,  however,  to  say  that  he  was  entirely  idle. 
At  Harrow  he  had  formed  an  intimate  friendship  with  a 
youth  more  ambitious  than  himself,  the  Nathaniel  Halhed 
whom  Dr.  Parr  chronicles  as  having  "  written  well  in  Latin 
and  Greek."  With  this  young  man  Sheridan  entered  into 
a  sort  of  literary  partnership  both  in  classical  translation 
and  dramatic  composition.  Their  first  attempt  was  a  farce 
called  Jupiter;  the  subject  being  the  story  of  Ixion,  in 
which,  curiously  enough,  the  after-treatment  of  the  Critic 
is  shadowed  forth  in  various  points,  the  little  drama  being 
in  the  form  of  a  rehearsal  before  a  tribunal  not  unlike  that 
to  which  Mr.  Puff  submits  his  immortal  tragedy.  Simile, 
the  supposed  author,  indeed,  says  one  or  two  things  which 
are  scarcely  unworthy  of  Puff.  The  following  passage  oc- 
curs in  a  scene  in  which  he  is  explaining  to  his  critics  the 
new  fashion  of  composition,  how  the  music  is  made  first, 
and  "the  sense "  afterwards  (a  process  no  ways  astonish- 


L]  HIS  YOUTH.  15 

ing  to  the  present  generation),  and  how  "  a  complete  set 
of  scenes  from  Italy"  is  the  first  framework  of  the  play 
which  "some  ingenious  hand"  writes  up  to.  "By  this 
method,"  says  one  of  the  wondering  commentators,  "you 
must  often  commit  blunders  ?" — 

"  Simile.  Blunders  !  to  be  sure  I  must,  but  I  always  could  get 
myself  out  of  them  again.  Why,  I'll  tell  you  an  instance  of  it. 
You  must  know  I  was  once  a  journeyman  sonnet-writer  to  Signor 
Squaltini.  Now,  his  method,  when  seized  with  the  furor  harmonious, 
was  constantly  to  make  me  sit  by  his  side,  while  he  was  thrumming 
on  his  harpsichord,  in  order  to  make  extempore  verses  to  whatever 
air  he  should  beat  out  to  his  liking.  I  remember  one  morning  as  he 
was  in  this  situation — thrum,  thrum,  thrum  (moving  his  fingers  as 
if  beating  on  the  harpsichord) — striking  out  something  prodigiously 
great,  as  he  thought  —  Hah  !'  said  he ;  '  hah  !  Mr.  Simile  —  thrum, 
thrum,  thrum — by  gar,  him  is  vary  fine — write  me  some  words  di- 
rectly.' I  durst  not  interrupt  him  to  ask  on  what  subject,  so  in- 
stantly began  to  describe  a  fine  morning — 

Calm  was  the  land  and  calm  the  skies, 
And  calm  the  heaven's  dome  serene, 

Hush'd  was  the  gale  and  hush'd  the  breeze, 
And  not  a  vapour  to  be  seen. 

"  I  sang  it  to  his  notes.  '  Hah  !  upon  my  word,  vary  pritt — thrum, 
thrum,  thrum.  Stay,  stay  !  Now,  upon  my  word,  here  it  must  be  an 
adagio.     Thrum,  thrum,  thrum.     Oh  !  let  it  be  an  Ode  to  Melancholy.' 

"Monop.  The  devil !  then  you  were  puzzled  sure — 

"Sim.  Not  in  the  least!  I  brought  in  a  cloud  in  the  next  stanza, 
and  matters,  you  see,  came  about  at  once. 

"Monop.  An  excellent  transition. 

"  CCd.  Vastly  ingenious,  indeed. 

"Sim.  Was  it  not,  very?  It  required  a  little  command  —  a  little 
presence  of  mind." 

When  the  rehearsal  begins  the  resemblance  is  still  more 
perfect,  though  there  is  no  reproduction  either  of  the  plot 
or  characters  introduced.     AVe   are    not  told  how  much 


16  RICHARD  BRLNSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

share  Hal  lied  had  in  the  composition :  it  was  he  who  fur- 
nished the  skeleton  of  the  play,  but  it  is  scarcely  possible 
that  such  a  scene  as  the  above  could  be  from  any  hand  but 
Sheridan's.  This  youthful  effort  was  never  finished.  It 
was  to  have  brought  in  a  sum  of  money,  which  they  both 
wanted  much,  to  the  young  authors :  "  The  thoughts,1' 
Ilalhed  says,  "  of  £200  shared  between  us  are  enough  to 
bring  the  water  into  one's  eyes."  Ilalhed,  then  at  Ox- 
ford, wanted  the  money  above  all  things  to  enable  him  to 
pay  a  visit  to  Bath,  where  lived  the  young  lady  whom  all 
these  young  men  adored ;  and  young  Sheridan,  who  can 
doubt,  required  it  for  a  thousand  uses.  But  they  were 
both  at  an  age  when  a  great  part  of  pleasure  lies  in  the 
planning,  and  when  the  mind  is  easily  diverted  to  another 
and  another  new  beginning.  A  publication  of  the  Tatlcr 
type  was  the  next  project,  to  be  called  (one  does  not  know 
why)  HernarCs  Miscellany;  but  this  never  went  further  than 
a  part  composition  of  the  first  number,  which  is  somewhat 
feeble  and  flippant,  as  the  monologue  of  an  essayist  of  that 
old-fashioned  type,  if  not  under  any  special  inspiration,  is 
apt  to  be.  Finally  the  young  men  succeeded  in  producing 
a  volume  of  so-called  translations  from  a  dubious  Latin  au- 
thor called  Aristaenetus,  of  whom  no  one  knows  much,  and 
on  whom  at  least  it  was  very  easy  for  them  to  father  the 
light  and  frothy  verses,  which  no  one  was  likely  to  seek 
for  in  the  original — if  an  original  existed.  Their  preface 
favours  the  idea  that  the  whole  business  was  a  literary 
hoax  by  which  they  did  not  even  expect  their  readers  to 
be  taken  in.  Aristametus  got  itself  published,  the  age  be- 
ing fond  of  classics  rubbed  down  into  modern  verse,  but 
does  not  seem  to  have  done  any  more.  The  two  young 
men  were  in  hopes  that  Sumner,  their  old  master,  "and 
the  wise  few  of  their  acquaintance,"  would  talk  about  the 


i.]  HIS  YOUTH.  17 

book,  and  perhaps  discover  the  joint  authorship,  and  help 
them  to  fame  and  profit.  But  these  hopes  were  not  re- 
alised, as  iudeed  they  did  not  in  the  least  deserve  to  be. 
They  were  flattered  by  being  told  that  Johnson  was  sup- 
posed to  be  the  author,  which  must  have  been  a  friendly 
invention ;  and  Halhed  tried  to  believe  that  "  everybody 
had  read  the  book,"  and  that  the  second  part,  vaguely 
promised  in  the  preface  on  condition  of  the  success  of  the 
first,  "  should  be  published  immediately,  being  of  opinion 
that  the  readers  of  the  first  volume  would  be  sure  to  pur- 
chase the  second,  and  that  the  publication  of  the  second 
would  put  it  into  the  heads  of  others  to  buy  the  first" — 
a  truly  business-like  argument,  which,  however,  did  not 
convince  the  booksellers.  It  seems  a  pity  to  burden  the 
collection  of  Sheridan's  works  now  with  these  unprofitable 
verses,  which  were  never  acknowledged,  and  did  not  even 
procure  for  young  Halhed,  who  wanted  it  so  much,  the 
happiness  of  a  visit  to  Bath,  or  a  sight  of  the  object  of  his 
boyish  adoration. 

It  is  the  presence  of  this  lady  which  gives  interest  and 
romance  to  the  early  chapter  of  Sheridan's  life,  and  the 
record  cannot  go  further  without  bringing  her  in.  There 
flourished  at  Bath  in  those  days  a  family  called  by  Dr. 
Burncy,  in  his  History  of  Music,  a  nest  of  nightingales — 
the  family  of  Linley,  the  composer,  who  had  been  for 
years  at  the  head  of  musical  enterprise  in  the  district,  the 
favourite  singing  -  master,  the  conductor  of  all  the  con- 
certs, a  man  whom  Bath  delighted  to  honour,  and  whose 
fame  spread  over  England  by  means  of  the  beau  monde 
which  took  the  waters  in  that  city  of  pleasure.  The  posi- 
tion that  such  a  man  takes  in  a  provincial  town  has  be- 
come once  more  so  much  like  what  it  was  in  the  latter 
half  of  last  century,  when  Handel  was  at  Windsor  and 
2 


18  RICIIARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

England  in  one  of  its  musical  periods,  that  it  will  be 
easily  realised  by  the  reader.  The  brevet  rank,  revocable 
at  the  pleasure  of  society,  which  the  musical  family  ob- 
tains, its  admission  among  all  the  fine  people,  the  price  it 
has  to  pay  for  its  elevation,  and  the  vain  hope  that  it  is 
prized  for  its  own  personal  qualities,  which  flatters  it  while 
in  its  prime  of  attraction — the  apparent  equality,  nay,  al- 
most superiority,  of  the  triumphant  musicians  among  their 
patrons,  who  yet  never  forget  the  real  difference  between 
them,  and  whose  homage  is  often  little  more  than  a  form 
of  insult — give  a  dramatic  interest  to  the  group  such  as 
few  possess.  This  was  the  position  held  by  the  Linleys 
among  the  fine  people  of  Bath.  There  were  beautiful 
girls  in  the  musician's  house,  which  was  always  open,  hos- 
pitable, and  bright,  and  where  a  perpetual  flutter  of  admi- 
ration and  compliments,  half  affectionate,  half  humorous, 
the  enthusiasm  of  a  coterie,  was  in  the  ears  of  the  young 
creatures  in  all  their  early  essays  in  art.  Men  of  wealth 
and  sometimes  of  rank,  the  gentlemen  of  the  neighbour- 
hood, the  officers  and  the  wits — all  friends  of  Linley,  and 
glad  to  invite  him  to  club  and  coffee-house  and  mess-room 
— were  always  about  to  furnish  escorts  and  a  flattering 
train  wherever  the  young  singers  went.  The  eldest  daugh- 
ter, Elizabeth — or  Eliza,  as  it  was  the  fashion  of  the  time 
to  shorten  and  vulgarise  that  beautiful  name — was  a  lovely 
girl  of  sixteen  when  the  young  Sheridans  became  known 
about  Bath.  Her  voice  was  as  lovely  as  her  face,  and  she 
was  the  prima  donna  of  her  father's  concerts,  going  with 
him  to  sing  at  festivals  in  other  cathedral  towns,  and  often 
to  Oxford,  where  she  had  turned  the  head  of  young  Halhcd 
and  of  many  an  undergraduate  besides.  In  Bath  the  young 
men  were  all  at  her  feet,  and  not  only  the  young  men,  as 
was  natural,  but  the  elder  and  less  innocent  members  of 


i.]  HIS  YOUTH.  19 

society.  That  the  musician  and  his  wife  might  have  en- 
tertained hopes  or  even  allowed  themselves  to  be  betrayed 
into  not  entirely  unjustifiable  schemings  to  marry  their 
beautiful  child  to  somebody  who  would  raise  her  into  a 
higher  sphere,  may  well  be  believed.  One  such  plan,  in- 
deed, it  is  evident  did  exist,  which  the  poor  girl  herself 
foiled  by  making  an  artless  confession  to  the  man  whom 
her  parents  had  determined  she  should  marry — "  Mr.  Long, 
an  old  gentleman  of  considerable  fortune,"  who  had  the 
magnanimity  to  take  upon  himself  the  burden  of  breaking 
the  engagement,  and  closed  the  indignant  father's  mouth 
by  settling  a  little  fortune  of  £3000  upon  the  young  lady. 
A  danger  escaped  in  this  way,  however,  points  to  many 
other  pitfalls  among  which  her  young  feet  had  to  tread, 
and  one  at  least  of  a  far  more  alarming  kind  has  secured 
for  itself  a  lasting  place  in  her  future  husband's  history. 
There  is  a  curious  letter1  extant,  which  is  printed  in  all 
Sheridan's  biographies,  and  in  which  Eliza  gives  an  ac- 
count to  a  dear  friend  and  confidant  of  the  toils  woven 
around  her  by  one  of  her  father's  visitors,  a  certain  Cap- 
tain Matthews,  who,  though  a  married  man  and  much 
older  than  herself,  had  beguiled  the  simple  girl  into  a  pro- 
longed and  clandestine  sentimental  correspondence.  The 
sophisticated  reader,  glancing  at  this  quaint  production, 
without  thought  of  the  circumstances  or  the  person,  would 
probably  conclude  that  there  w7as  harm  in  it,  which  it  is 
very  certain  from  all  that  is  said  and  done  besides  did  not 
exist;  but  the  girl  in  her  innocence  evidently  felt  that  the 
stolen  intercourse,  the  whisperings  aside,  the  man's  prot- 

1  Mrs.  Norton,  in  a  preliminary  sketch  to  an  intended  history  of 
the  Sheridans,  never  written,  denies  the  authenticity  of  this  letter 
with  a  somewhat  ill-directed  family  pride ;  but  no  doubt  has  been 
thrown  upon  it  by  any  of  Sheridan's  biographers. 


20  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

estations  of  fondness,  and  despair  if  she  withdrew  from 
him,  and  her  own  half-flattered,  half-frightened  attraction 
towards  him,  were  positive  guilt.  The  letter,  indeed,  is 
Lydia  Languish  from  beginning  to  end — the  Lydia  Lan- 
guish of  real  life  without  any  genius  to  trim  her  utterance 
into  just  as  much  as  is  needful  and  characteristic — and  in 
consequence  is  somewhat  tedious,  long-winded,  and  con- 
fused ;  but  her  style,  something  between  Clarissa  Harlowe 
and  Julia  Mannering,  is  quite  appropriate  at  once  to  the 
revelation  and  the  period.  The  affair  to  which  her  letter 
refers  has  occupied  far  too  much  space,  we  think,  in  the 
story  of  Sheridan's  life,  yet  it  is  a  curious  exposition  of 
the  time,  the  class,  and  the  locality.  The  Maid  of  Bath, 
as  she  was  called,  had  many  adorers.  Young  Halhcd, 
young  Charles  Sheridan — neither  of  them  with  much  to 
offer — followed  her  steps  wherever  she  moved,  and  ap- 
plauded to  the  echo  every  note  she  sang,  as  did  many  an- 
other adorer;  while  within  the  busy  and  full  house  the 
middle-aged  visitor,  her  father's  so-called  friend,  had  a  hun- 
dred opportunities  for  a  whispered  word,  a  stolen  caress, 
half  permissible  for  the  sake  of  old  friendship,  and  because, 
no  doubt,  he  had  known  her  from  a  child.  But  even  at 
sixteen  the  eyes  of  a  girl  accustomed  to  so  many  tributes 
would  soon  be  opened,  and  the  poor  Lydia  became  alarmed 
by  the  warmth  of  her  half-paternal  lover  and  by  the  secrecy 
of  his  communications.  This  was  her  position  at  the  time 
the  Sheridans  appear  upon  the  scene. 

The  new  influence  immediately  began  to  tell.  Miss 
Linley  and  Miss  Sheridan  became  devoted  friends  —  and 
the  two  brothers  "  on  our  first  acquaintance  both  pro- 
fessed to  love  me."  She  gave  them  no  hope  "that  I 
should  ever  look  upon  them  in  any  other  light  than  as 
brothers  of  my  friend,"  but  yet  "  preferred  the  youngest," 


i.J  HIS  YOUTH.  21 

as  "  by  far  the  most  agreeable  in  person,  beloved  by  every 
one,  and  greatly  respected  by  all  the  better  sort  of  people." 
Richard  Sheridan,  it  would  seem,  immediately  assumed  the 
position  of  the  young  lady's  secret  guardian.  He  made 
friends  with  Matthews,  became  even  intimate  with  him,  and 
thus  discovered  the  villanous  designs  which  he  entertained; 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  he  obtained  the  confidence  of  the 
lady,  and  became  her  chief  adviser.  It  was  a  curious  posi- 
tion for  a  young  man — but  he  was  very  young,  very  poor, 
without  any  prospects  that  could  justify  him  in  entering 
the  lists  on  his  own  account ;  and  while  he  probably  suc- 
ceeded in  convincing  Miss  Linley  that  his  love  for  her  was 
subdued  into  friendship,  he  seems  to  have  been  able  to 
keep  his  secret  from  all  his  competitors,  and  not  to  have 
been  suspected  by  any  of  them.  In  the  heat  of  the  perse- 
cution by  Matthews,  who  resisted  all  her  attempts  to  shake 
off  his  society,  frightening  her  by  such  old-fashioned  ex- 
pedients as  threatening  his  own  life,  and  declaring  that  he 
could  not  live  without  seeing  her,  incessant  consultations 
were  necessary  with  the  young  champion  who  knew  the 
secret,  and  whose  advice  and  countenance  were  continually 
appealed  to.  No  doubt  they  met  daily  in  the  ordinary 
course  at  each  other's  houses ;  but  romance  made  it  desir- 
able that  they  should  find  a  secret  spot  where  Eliza  could 
confide  her  troubles  to  Richard,  and  he  warn  her  and  en- 
courage her  in  her  resistance.  "  A  grotto  in  Sydney  Gar- 
dens" is  reported  to  have  been  the  scene  of  these  meet- 
ings. On  one  occasion  the  anxious  adviser  must  have 
urged  his  warnings  too  far,  or  insisted  too  warmly  upon 
the  danger  of  her  position,  for  she  left  him  angrily,  resent- 
ing his  interference ;  and  this  was  the  occasion  of  the 
verses  addressed  to  Delia  which  he  left  upon  the  seat  of 
the  grotto  for  her,  with  an  apparently  well-justified  but 


22  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [cnAr. 

somewhat  rash  confidence  that  they  would  fall  into  no 
other  hands.  In  this,  after  celebrating  the  "  moss-covered 
grotto  of  stone"  and  the  dew-dripping  willow  that  over- 
shadows it,  he  unfolds  the  situation  as  follows : 

"  This  is  the  grotto  where  Delia  reclined, 
As  late  I  in  secret  her  confidence  sought ; 
And  this  is  the  tree  kept  her  safe  from  the  wind, 
As,  blushing,  she  heard  the  grave  lesson  I  taught. 

"  Then  tell  me,  thou  grotto  of  moss-covered  stone ; 

And  tell  me,  thou  willow  with  leaves  dripping  dew, 
Did  Delia  seem  vexed  when  Horatio  was  gone, 
And  did  she  confess  her  resentment  to  you  ? 

"  Methinks  now  each  hough  as  you're  waving  it  tries 
To  whisper  a  cause  for  the  sorrow  I  feel, 
To  hint  how  she  frowned  when  I  dared  to  advise, 
And  sigh'd  when  she  saw  that  I  did  it  with  zeal. 

"  True,  true,  silly  leaves,  so  she  did,  I  allow ; 

She  frowned,  but  no  rage  in  her  looks  did  I  see ; 
She  frowned,  but  reflection  had  clouded  her  brow  ; 
She  sigh'd,  but  perhaps  'twas  in  pity  for  me. 
****** 
"For  well  did  she  know  that  my  heart  meant  no  wrong — 
It  sank  at  the  thought  but  of  giving  her  pain  ; 
But  trusted  its  task  to  a  faltering  tongue, 

Which  err'd  from  the  feelings  it  could  not  explain. 

"Yet  oh  !  if  indeed  I've  offended  the  maid, 
If  Delia  my  humble  monition  refuse, 
Sweet  willow,  the  next  time  she  visits  thy  shade, 
Fan  gently  her  bosom,  and  plead  its  excuse. 

"  And  thou,  stony  grot,  in  thy  arch  may'st  preserve 
Two  lingering  drops  of  the  night-fallen  dew; 
And  just  let  them  fall  at  her  feet,  and  they'll  serve 
As  tears  of  my  sorrow  intrusted  to  you." 


i.]  HIS  YOUTH.  23 

This  is  not  very  tine  poetry ;  but  it  is  very  instructive 
as  to  the  curious  complication  of  affairs.  It  would  not 
have  suited  Captain  Absolute  to  play  such  a  part ;  but 
Lydia  Languish,  amid  all  the  real  seriousness  of  the  di- 
lemma, no  doubt  would  have  derived  a  certain  comfort 
from  the  romantic  circumstances  altogether — the  villain, 
on  one  hand,  threatening  to  lay  his  death  at  her  door; 
the  modest,  self-suppressed  adorer,  on  the  other,  devoting 
himself  to  her  service;  the  long,  confidential  conferences 
in  the  dark  and  damp  little  shelter  behind  the  wTillow  ;  the 
verses  left  on  the  seat — nothing  could  have  been  more  de- 
lightful to  a  romantic  imao-ination. 

But  the  excitement  heightened  as  time  went  on ;  and 
the  poor  girl  was  so  harassed  and  persecuted  by  the  man 
whose  suit  was  a  scandal,  that  she  tried  at  last,  she  tells  us, 
to  take  poison,  as  the  only  way  of  escape  for  her,  searching 
for  and  finding  in  Miss  Sheridan's  room  a  small  phial  of 
laudanum,  which  had  been  used  for  an  aching  tooth,  and 
which  was  too  small  apparently  to  do  any  harm.  After 
this  tremendous  evidence  of  her  miserable  state,  Sheridan, 
who  w7ould  seem  to  have  confined  himself  hitherto  to 
warnings  and  hints,  now  disclosed  the  full  turpitude  of 
Matthews' s  intentions,  and  showed  her  a  letter  in  which 
the  villain  announced  that  he  had  determined  to  proceed 
to  strong  measures,  and  if  he  could  not  overcome  her  by 
pleadings  meant  to  carry  her  off  by  force.  "The  moment 
I  read  this  horrid  letter  I  fainted,  and  it  was  some  time 
before  I  could  recover  my  senses  sufficiently  to  thank  Mr. 
Sheridan  for  opening  my  eyes."  But  the  question  now 
was,  what  was  to  be  done?  For  the  poor  girl  seems  to 
have  had  no  confidence  in  her  father's  power  of  protect- 
ing her,  and  probably  knew  the  inexpediency  of  embroil- 
ing him  with  his  patrons.     The  two  young  creatures  laid 


2  i  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

their  foolish  heads  together  in  this  crisis  of  fate — the  girl 
thoroughly  frightened,  the  youth  full  of  chivalrous  deter- 
mination to  protect  her,  and  doubtless  not  without  a  hot- 
headed young  lover's  hope  to  turn  it  to  his  own  advan- 
tage. He  proposed  that  she  should  fly  to  France,  and 
there  take  refuge  in  a  convent  till  the  danger  should  be 
over.  His  own  family  had  left  France  only  a  few  years 
before,  and  the  sister,  who  was  Eliza's  friend,  would 
recommend  her  to  the  kind  nuns  at  St.  Quentin,  where 
she  had  herself  been  brought  up.  "  He  would  go  with 
me  to  protect  me,  and  after  he  had  seen  me  settled  he 
would  return  to  England  and  place  my  conduct  in  such 
a  light  that  the  wrorld  would  applaud  and  not  condemn 
me." 

Such  was  the  wonderful  expedient  by  which  the  diffi- 
culties of  this  terrible  crisis  were  surmounted.  Her  mother 
was  ill  and  the  house  in  great  disorder,  and  under  cover 
of  the  accidental  commotion  young  Sheridan  handed  the 
agitated  girl  into  a  chair — his  sister,  who  was  in  the  secret, 
and,  no  doubt,  in  high  excitement  too,  coming  secretly  to 
help  her  to  pack  up  her  clothes;  and  that  night  they 
posted  off  to  London.  "  Sheridan  had  engaged  the  wife 
of  one  of  his  servants  to  go  with  me  as  a  maid  without 
my  knowledge.  You  may  imagine  how  pleased  I  was 
with  his  delicate  behaviour."  This  last  particular  reaches 
the  very  heights  of  chivalry,  for,  no  doubt,  it  must  have 
been  quite  a  different  matter  to  the  impassioned  boy  to 
conduct  the  flight  with  a  commonplace  matron  seated  in 
his  post-chaise  between  him  and  his  beautiful  Delia,  instead 
of  the  tete-a-tete  which  he  might  so  easily  have  secured. 
Next  day  they  crossed  the  Channel  to  the  little  sandy 
port  of  Dunkirk  and  were  safe. 

And  it  would  seem  that  the  rash  young  lover  was  very 


i.]  HIS  YOUTH.  25 

honest  and  really  meant  to  carry  out  this  mad  project; 
for  she  did  eventually  reach  her  convent,  whither  he  at- 
tended her  with  punctilious  respect.  But  when  they  were 
fairly  launched  upon  their  adventurous  career  either  com- 
mon sense  or  discreet  acquaintances  soon  made  it  apparent 
to  the  young  man  that  a  youth  and  a  maiden,  however 
virtuous,  cannot  rove  about  the  world  in  this  way  without 
comment,  and  that  there  was  but  one  thing  to  be  done  in 
the  circumstances.  Perhaps  Miss  Lin  ley  had  begun  to  feel 
something  more  than  the  mere  "  preference  for  the  young- 
est," which  she  had  so  calmly  announced,  or  perhaps  it 
was  only  the  desperate  nature  of  the  circumstances  that 
made  her  yield.  But,  however  that  may  be,  the  two  fugi- 
tives went  through  the  ceremony  of  marriage  at  Calais, 
though  they  seem  to  have  separated  immediately  after- 
wards, carrying  out  the  high  sentimental  and  Platonic  ro- 
mance to  the  end. 

It  is  a  curious  commentary,  however,  upon  the  prodi- 
gality of  the  penniless  class  to  which  Sheridan  belonged 
that  he  could  manage  to  start  off  suddenly  upon  this  jour- 
ney out  of  Thomas  Sheridan's  shifty  household,  where 
money  was  never  abundant,  a  boy  of  twenty,  with  nothing 
of  his  own — hurrying  up  to  London  with  post-horses,  and 
hiring  magnificently  "the  wife  of  one  of  his  servants"  to 
attend  upon  his  love.  The  words  suggest  a  retinue  of 
retainers,  and  the  journey  itself  would  have  taxed  the  re- 
sources of  a  youth  much  better  endowed  than  Sheridan. 
Did  he  borrow,  or  run  chivalrously  into  debt  ?  or  how  did 
he  manage  it  ?  His  sister  "  assisted  them  with  money  out 
of  her  little  fund  for  household  expenses,"  but  that  would 
not  go  far.  Perhaps  the  friend  in  London  (a  "respectable 
brandy-merchant")  to  whom  he  introduced  Miss  Linley 
as  an  heiress  who  had  eloped  with  him,  may  have  helped 
2* 


26  RICHARD  BRIXSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

on  such  a  warrant  to  furnish  the  funds.  But  there  is  noth- 
ing more  remarkable  than  the  ease  with  which  these  im- 
pecunious gallants  procure  post-chaises,  servants,  and  lux- 
uries in  those  dashing  days.  The  young  men  think  noth- 
ing of  a  headlong  journey  from  Bath  to  London  and  back 
again,  which,  notwithstanding  all  our  increased  facilities 
of  locomotion,  penniless  youths  of  to-day  would  hesitate 
about.  To  be  sure,  it  is  possible  that  credit  was  to  be  had 
at  the  livery-stables,  whereas,  fortunately,  none  is  possible 
at  the  railway-station.  Post-horses  seem  to  have  been  an 
affair  of  every  day  to  the  heroes  of  the  Crescent  and  the 
Parade. 

Meanwhile  everything  was  left  in  commotion  at  home. 
Charles  Sheridan,  the  elder  brother,  had  left  Bath  and 
gone  to  the  country  in  such  dejection,  after  Miss  Linley's 
final  refusal  of  his  addresses,  as  became  a  sentimental  lover. 
When  Richard  went  off  triumphant  with  the  lady  his  sis- 
ters were  left  alone,  in  great  excitement  and  agitation ;  and 
their  landlord,  thinking  the  girls  required  "protection," 
according  to  the  language  of  the  time,  set  out  at  break  of 
day  to  bring  back  the  rejected  from  his  retirement.  The 
feelings  of  Charles  on  finding  that  his  younger  brother, 
whom  even  the  girls  did  not  know  to  be  a  lover  of  Miss 
Linley,  had  carried  off  the  prize,  may  be  imagined. 
But  the  occasion  of  the  elopement,  the  designing  villain 
of  the  piece — the  profligate  whose  pursuit  had  driven  the 
lady  to  despair — was  furious.  Miss  Linley  had,  no  doubt, 
left  some  explanation  of  the  extraordinary  step  she  was 
taking  with  her  parents,  and  Sheridan  appears  to  have 
taken  the  same  precaution  and  disclosed  the  reasons  which 
prompted  her  flight.  When  Matthews  heard  of  this  he 
published  the  following  advertisement  in  a  Bath  news- 
paper : 


i.]  HIS  YOUTH.  27 

"  Mr.  Richard  S*******  having  attempted,  in  a  letter  left  be- 
hind him  for  that  purpose,  to  account  for  his  scandalous  method  of 
running  away  from  this  place  by  insinuations  derogatory  to  my  char- 
acter and  that  of  a  young  lady  innocent  so  far  as  relates  to  me  or  my 
knowledge ;  since  which  he  has  neither  taken  any  notice  of  letters, 
or  even  informed  his  own  family  of  the  place  where  he  has  hid  him- 
self:  I  can  no  longer  think  he  deserves  the  treatment  of  a  gentle- 
man, and  therefore  shall  trouble  myself  no  further  about  him  than, 
in  this  public  method,  to  post  him  as  a  L  *  *  *  and  a  treacherous 
g******** 

"And  as  I  am  convinced  there  have  been  many  malevolent  incen- 
diaries concerned  in  the  propagation  of  this  infamous  lie,  if  any  of 
them,  unprotected  by  age,  infirmities,  or  profession,  will  dare  to  ac- 
knowledge the  part  they  have  acted,  and  affirm  to  what  they  have 
said  of  me,  they  may  depend  on  receiving  the  proper  reward  of  their 
villainy  in  the  most  public  manner." 

This  fire-eating  paragraph  was  signed  with  the  writer's 
name,  and  it  may  be  imagined  what  a  delightful  commo- 
tion it  made  in  such  a  metropolis  of  scandal  and  leisure, 
and  with  what  excitement  all  the  frequenters  of  the  Pump- 
room  and  the  assemblies  looked  for  the  next  incident. 
Some  weeks  elapsed  before  they  were  satisfied,  but  the  fol- 
lowing event  was  striking  enough  to  content  the  most  sen- 
sational imagination.  It  would  seem  to  have  been  April 
before  a  clue  was  found  to  the  fugitives,  and  Linley  started 
at  once  from  Bath  to  recover  his  daughter.  He  found  her, 
to  his  great  relief,  doubtless,  in  the  house  of  an  English 
doctor  in  Lisle,  who  had  brought  her  there  from  her  con- 
vent, and  placed  her  under  his  wife's  care  to  be  nursed 
when  she  was  ill.  Everything,  it  was  evident,  had  been 
done  in  honour,  and  the  musician  seems  to  have  been  so 
thankful  to  find  things  no  worse  that  he  took  the  young 
people's  explanations  in  good  part.  He  would  even  seem 
to  have  made  some  sort  of  conditional  promise  that  she 
should  no  longer  be  compelled  to  perform  in  public  after 


28  RICHARD  BRIXSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

she  had  fulfilled  existing  engagements,  and  so  brought  her 
back  peacefully  to  Bath.  Richard,  who  in  the  mean  time, 
in  his  letters  home,  had  spoken  of  his  bride  as  Miss  L., 
announcing  her  settlement  in  her  convent,  without  the 
slightest  intimation  of  any  claim  on  his  part  upon  her, 
seems  to  have  returned  with  them ;  but  no  one,  not  even 
Miss  Linley's  father,  was  informed  of  the  Calais  marriage, 
which  seems,  in  all  good  faith,  to  have  been  a  form  gone 
through  in  case  any  scandal  should  be  raised,  but  at  pres- 
ent meaning  nothing  more.  And  Bath,  with  all  its  scan- 
dal-mongers, at  a  period  when  the  general  imagination 
was  far  from  delicate,  seems  to  have  accepted  the  esca- 
pade with  a  confidence  in  both  the  young  people,  and 
entire  belief  in  their  honour,  which  makes  us  think  better 
both  of  the  age  and  the  town.  We  doubt  whether  such 
faith  w7ould  be  shown  in  the  hero  and  heroine  of  a  simi- 
lar freak  in  our  own  day.  Young  Sheridan,  however, 
came  home  to  no  peaceable  reception.  He  had  to  meet 
his  indignant  brother,  in  the  first  place,  and  to  settle  the 
question  raised  by  the  insulting  advertisement  of  Mat- 
thews, which  naturally  set  his  youthful  blood  boiling. 
Before  his  return  to  Bath  he  had  seen  this  villain  in 
London,  who  had  the  audacity  to  disclaim  the  advertise- 
ment and  attribute  it  to  Charles  Sheridan — a  suggestion 
which  naturally  brought  the  young  man  home  furious. 
The  trembling  sisters,  delighted  to  welcome  Richard,  and 
eager  to  know  all  about  his  adventure,  had  their  natural 
sentiments  checked  by  the  gloomy  looks  with  which  the 
brothers  met,  and  went  to  bed  reluctantly  that  first  even- 
ing, hearing  the  young  men's  voices  high  and  angry,  and 
anticipating  with  horror  a  quarrel  between  them.  Next 
morning  neither  of  them  appeared.  They  had  gone  off 
again  with  those  so-easily-obtained  post-horses  to  London. 


l]  HIS  YOUTH.  29 

A  terrible  time  of  waiting  ensued ;  the  distracted  girls  ran 
to  the  Linleys,  but  found  no  information  there.  They  ex- 
pected nothing  better  than  to  hear  of  a  duel  between  their 
brothers  for  the  too-charming  Eliza's  sake. 

Hitherto  all  has  been  the  genteelest  of  comedy,  in 
fine  eighteenth -century  style:  the  villain  intriguing,  the 
ardent  young  lover  stealing  the  lady  out  of  his  clutches, 
and  Lydia  Languish  herself  not  without  a  certain  delight 
in  the  romance,  notwithstanding  all  her  flutterings :  the 
post-chaise  dashing  through  the  night,  the  alarms  of  the 
voyage,  the  curious  innocent  delusion  of  the  marriage, 
complaisant  priest  and  homely  confidant,  and  guardian- 
bridegroom,  with  a  soul  above  every  ungenerous  advan- 
tage. But  the  following  act  is  wildly  sensational.  The 
account  of  the  brawl  that  follows  is  given  at  length  by 
all  Sheridan's  biographers.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say 
that  when  the  brothers,  angry  as  both  were,  had  mutually 
explained  themselves,  it  was  not  to  lift  unnatural  hands 
against  each  other  that  they  sallied  forth,  while  the  girls 
lay  listening  and  trembling  up-stairs,  but  to  jump  once 
more  into  a  post-chaise,  and  rattle  over  the  long  levels 
of  the  Bath  road  to  town  through  the  dewy  chill  of  a 
May  night,  which  did  nothing,  however,  towards  cooling 
their  hot  blood.  Before  leaving  Bath,  Richard  had  flashed 
forth  a  letter  to  the  Master  of  the  Ceremonies,  informing 
him  that  Matthews's  conduct  had  been  such  that  no  verbal 
apology  could  now  be  accepted  from  him.  The  first  step 
the  hero  took  on  arriving  in  London  was  to  challenge  the 
villain,  who,  indeed,  would  seem  to  have  behaved  as  in- 
famously as  the  most  boldly-drawn  villain  on  the  stage 
could  be  represented  as  doing.  And  then  comes  a  most 
curious  scene.  The  gentlemen  with  their  rapiers  go  out 
to  the  Park,  walking  out  together  about  six  in  the  even- 


30  RICHARD  BRIXSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

ing — apparently  a  time  when  the  Park  was  almost  empty ; 
but  on  various  pretences  the  offender  declines  to  fight 
there,  with  an  air  of  endeavouring  to  slip  out  of  the  risk 
altogether.  After  several  attempts  to  persuade  him  to 
stand  and  draw,  the  party,  growing  more  and  more  ex- 
cited, at  length  go  to  a  coffee-house,  "  The  Castle  Tavern, 
Henrietta  Street"  —  having  first  called  at  two  or  three 
other  places,  where  their  heated  looks  would  seem  to  have 
roused  suspicion.  Their  march  through  the  streets  in 
the  summer  evening  on  this  strange  errand,  each  with  his 
second,  the  very  sword  quivering  at  young  Richard's  side 
and  the  blood  boiling  in  his  veins,  among  all  the  peaceful 
group  streaming  away  from  the  Park,  is  wonderful  to 
think  of.  When  they  got  admittance  at  last  to  a  private 
room  in  the  tavern  the  following  scene  occurs : 

"  Mr.  Ewart  [the  second  of  Sheridan]  took  lights  up  in  his  hand, 
and  almost  immediately  on  our  entering  the  room  we  engaged.  I 
struck  Mr.  Matthews's  point  so  much  out  of  the  line  that  I  stepped 
up  and  caught  hold  of  his  wrist,  or  the  hilt  of  his  sword,  while  the 
point  of  mine  was  at  his  breast.  You  [the  letter  is  addresssed  to 
the  second  on  the  other  side]  ran  in  and  caught  hold  of  my  arm,  ex- 
claiming, '  Don't  kill  him !'  I  struggled  to  disengage  my  arm,  and 
said  his  sword  was  in  my  power.  Mr.  Matthews  called  out  twice  or 
thrice, '  I  beg  my  life.'  You  immediately  said  '  There  !  he  has  begged 
his  life,  and  now  there  is  an  end  of  it ;'  and  on  Mr.  Ewart's  saying 
that  when  his  sword  was  in  my  power,  as  I  attempted  no  more,  you 
should  not  have  interfered,  you  replied  that  you  were  wrong,  but  that 
you  had  done  it  hastily  and  to  prevent  mischief — or  words  to  that 
effect.  Mr.  Matthews  then  hinted  that  I  was  rather  obliged  to  your 
interposition  for  the  advantage :  you  declared  that  before  you  did  so 
both  the  swords  were  in  Mr.  Sheridan's  power.  Mr.  Matthews  still 
seemed  resolved  to  give  it  another  turn,  and  observed  that  he  had 
never  quitted  his  sword.  Provoked  at  this,  I  then  swore  (with  too 
much  heat,  perhaps)  that  he  should  either  give  up  his  sword  and  I 
would  break  it,  or  go  to  his  guard  again.     He  refused — but  on  my 


l]  HIS  YOUTH.  31 

persisting  either  gave  it  into  my  hand,  or  flung  it  on  the  table  or  the 
ground  (which,  I  will  not  absolutely  affirm).  I  broke  it  and  flung 
the  hilt  to  the  other  end  of  the  room.  He  exclaimed  at  this.  I 
took  a  mourning  sword  from  Mr.  Ewart,  and,  presenting  him  with 
mine,  gave  my  honour  that  what  had  passed  should  never  be  men- 
tioned by  me,  and  he  might  now  right  himself  again.  He  replied 
that  he  '  would  never  draw  a  sword  against  the  man  that  had  given 
him  his  life ;'  but  on  his  still  exclaiming  against  the  indignity  of 
breaking  his  sword  (which  he  brought  upon  himself),  Mr.  Ewart 
offered  him  the  pistols,  and  some  altercation  passed  between  them. 
Mr.  Matthews  said  that  he  could  never  show  his  face  if  it  were  known 
that  his  sword  was  broke — that  such  a  thing  had  never  been  done — - 
that  it  cancelled  all  obligations,  etc.  You  seemed  to  think  it  was 
wrong,  and  we  both  proposed  that  if  he  never  misrepresented  the 
affair  it  should  not  be  mentioned  by  us.  This  was  settled.  I  then 
asked  Mr.  Matthews,  as  he  had  expressed  himself  sensible  of  and 
shocked  at  the  injustice  and  indignity  he  had  done  me  by  his  ad- 
vertisement, whether  it  did  not  occur  to  him  that  he  owed  me  an- 
other satisfaction ;  and  that  as  it  was  now  in  his  power  to  do  it  with- 
out discredit,  I  supposed  he  would  not  hesitate.  This  he  absolutely 
refused,  unless  conditionally.  I  insisted  on  it,  and  said  I  would  not 
leave  the  room  till  it  was  settled.  After  much  altercation,  and  with 
much  ill  grace,  he  gave  the  apology." 

There  could  not  be  a  more  curious  scene.  The  out- 
door duel  is  familiar  enough  both  to  fact  and  fiction ;  but 
the  flash  of  the  crossing  swords,  the  sudden  rush,  the  al- 
tercations of  the  angry  group,  the  sullen  submission  of 
the  disarmed  bully,  going  on  by  the  light  of  the  flaring 
candles,  in  an  inn-parlour,  while  the  ordinary  bustle  of 
the  tavern  proceeded  peacefully  below,  is  as  strange  a 
picture  as  we  can  remember.  Sheridan's  account  of  the 
circumstances  was  made  in  answer  to  another,  which 
stated  them,  as  he  asserts,  falsely.  The  brothers  re- 
turned home  on  Tuesday  morning  (they  had  left  Bath 
on  Saturday  night),  "much  fatigued,  not  having  been  in 
bed  since  they  left  home,"  with  Matthews's  apology,  and 


32  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

triumph  in  their  hearts,  to  the  great  consolation  and  re- 
lief of  the  anxious  girls.  But  their  triumph  was  not  to 
be  so  easy.  The  circumstances  of  the  duel  oozed  out,  as 
most  things  do,  and  Matthews,  stung  by  shame,  challenged 
Sheridan  again,  choosing  pistols  as  the  weapons,  prior  to 
swords,  "from  a  conviction  that  Mr.  Sheridan  would  run 
in  on  him  and  an  ungentlemanly  scuffle  probably  be  the 
consequence."  This  presentiment  very  evidently  was  jus- 
tified ;  for  the  pistols  were  not  used,  and  the  duel  ended 
in  a  violent  scuffle  —  not  like  the  usual  dignified  calm 
which  characterises  such  deadly  meetings.  Matthews 
broke  his  sword  upon  Sheridan's  ribs.  The  two  antag- 
onists fell  together,  Sheridan,  wounded  and  bleeding,  un- 
derneath, while  the  elder  and  heavier  man  punched  at 
him  with  his  broken  sword.  They  were  separated  at 
length  by  the  seconds,  Sheridan  refusing  to  "  beg  his 
life."  He  was  carried  home  very  seriously  wounded,  and, 
as  was  believed,  in  great  danger.  Miss  Linley  was  sing- 
ing at  Oxford  at  the  time,  and  while  there  Sheridan's 
wounded  condition  and  the  incident  altogether  was  con- 
cealed from  her,  though  everybody  else  knew  of  it  and  of 
her  connection  with  it.  When  it  was  at  last  communi- 
cated to  her  she  almost  betrayed  their  secret,  which  even 
now  nobody  suspected,  by  a  cry  of  "  My  husband !  my 
husband  I"  which  startled  all  who  were  present,  but  was 
set  down  to  her  excitement  and  distress,  and  presently 
forgotten. 

This  tremendous  encounter  closed  the  episode.  Mat- 
thew had  vindicated  his  courage  and  obliterated  the  stig- 
ma of  the  broken  sword ;  and  though  there  was  at  one 
moment  a  chance  of  a  third  duel,  thenceforward  we  hear 
little  more  of  him.  Sheridan  recovered  slowly  under  the 
care  of  his  sisters,  his  father  and  brother  beino;  a^ain  ab- 


i.]  HIS  YOUTH.  33 

sent,  and  not  very  friendly.  "  We  neither  of  us  could 
approve  of  the  cause  in  which  you  suffer,"  Charles  writes. 
"  All  your  friends  here  [in  London]  condemn  yon."  The 
brother,  however,  has  the  grace  to  add  that  he  is  "unhap- 
py at  the  situation  I  leave  you  in  with  respect  to  money 
matters,"  and  that  "  Ewart  was  greatly  vexed  at  the  man- 
ner of  your  drawing  for  the  last  twenty  pounds ;"  so  that 
it  seems  the  respectable  brandy  -  merchant  had  been  the 
family  stand-by.  The  poor  young  fellow's  position  was 
miserable  enough — badly  wounded,  without  a  shilling,  his 
love  seduously  kept  away  from  him,  and  the  bond  between 
them  so  strenuously  ignored,  that  he  promised  his  father, 
with  somewhat  guilty  disingenuousness,  that  he  never 
wrould  marry  Miss  Linley.  Life  was  altogether  at  a  low 
ebb  with  him.  "When  he  got  better  he  was  sent  into  the 
country,  to  Waltham  Abbey,  no  doubt  by  way  of  weaning 
him  from  all  the  seductions  of  Bath,  and  the  vicinity  of 
the  lovely  young  singer,  who  had  resumed  her  profession, 
though  she  hated  it,  and  was  to  be  seen  of  all  men  except 
the  faithful  lover  who  was  her  husband,  though  nobody 
knew. 

Before  we  conclude  this  chapter  of  young  life,  which 
reads  so  like  an  argument  to  the  Rivals  or  some  similar 
play,  we  may  indicate  some  of  Sheridan's  early  productions 
which,  common  as  the  pretty  art  of  verse-making  was, 
showed  something  more  than  the  facile  knack  of  compo- 
sition, which  is  one  of  wdiat  were  entitled  in  that  day  "  the 
elegant  qualifications"  of  golden  youth.  Sacred  to  Eliza 
Linley,  as  well  as  the  verses  about  "the  moss-covered 
grotto,"  was  the  following  graceful  snatch  of  song,  which 
is  pretty  enough  to  be  got  by  heart  and  sung  by  love-sick 
youths  in  many  generations  to  some  pretty,  rococo  air  as 
fantastic  as  itself : 


34  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

"  Dry  be  that  tear,  my  gentlest  love, 
Be  husli'd  that  struggling  sigh  ; 
Nor  seasons,  day,  nor  fate  shall  prove 

More  fix'd,  more  true  than  I. 
Hush'd  be  that  sigh,  be  dry  that  tear ; 
Cease  boding  doubt,  cease  anxious  fear ; 
Dry  be  that  tear. 

"  Ask'st  thou  how  long  my  love  will  stay, 

When  all  that's  new  is  past? 

How  long,  ah  !  Delia,  can  I  say 

How  long  my  life  will  last  ? 

Dry  be  that  tear,  be  husli'd  that  sigh. 

At  least  I'll  love  thee  till  I  die. 

Hush'd  be  that  sigh. 

"  And  does  that  thought  affect  thee  too, 

The  thought  of  Sylvio's  death, 

That  he  who  only  breath'd  for  you 

Must  yield  his  faithful  breath  ? 
Hush'd  be  that  sigh,  be  dry  that  tear, 
Nor  let  us  lose  our  heaven  here. 
Dry  be  that  tear." 

Moore,  with  a  pedantry  which  is  sufficiently  absurd, 
having  just  traced  an  expression  in  the  "  moss-covered 
grotto  "  to  a  classical  authority,  though  with  a  doubt,  very 
favourable  to  his  own  scholarship,  "  whether  Sheridan  was 
likely  to  have  been  a  reader  of  Augurianus,"  finds  a  close 
resemblance  in  the  above  to  "  one  of  the  madrigals  of 
Montreuil,"  or  perhaps  to  "  an  Italian  song  of  Menage." 
Very  likely  it  resembled  all  those  pretty  things,  the  rococo 
age  being  not  yet  over,  and  such  elegant  trifles  still  in 
fashion — as,  indeed,  they  will  always  be  as  long  as  youth 
and  its  sweet  follies  last. 

Other  pretty  bits  of  verse  might  be  quoted,  especially 
one  which  brings  in  another  delightful  literary  association 


i.]  HIS  YOUTH.  35 

into  the  story.  Lady  Margaret  Fordyce — the  beloved  sis- 
ter at  whose  departure  from  the  old  home  in  Fife  Lady 
Anne  Lindsay  was  so  dejected,  that  to  console  herself  she 
sang  the  woes,  more  plaintive  still  than  her  own,  of  that 
immortal  peasant  lass  who  married  Auld  Robin  Gray — 
was  then  in  Bath,  and  had  been  dismissed  by  a  local  versi- 
fier in  his  description  of  the  beauties  of  the  place  by  a 
couplet  about  a  dimple,  which  roused  young  Sheridan's 
wrath.     "  Could  you,"  he  cries,  addressing  the  poetaster — 

"  Could  you  really  discover, 
In  gazing  those  sweet  beauties  over, 
No  other  charm,  no  winning  grace, 
Adorning  either  mind  or  face, 
But  one  poor  dimple  to  express 
The  quintessence  of  loveliness  ? 

"  Mark'd  you  her  cheek  of  rosy  hue  ? 
Mark'd  you  her  eye  of  sparkling  blue  ? 
That  eye  in  liquid  circles  moving, 
That  cheek  abash' d  at  man's  approving ; 
The  one  Love's  arrows  darting  round, 
The  other  blushing  at  the  wound  ; 
Did  she  not  speak,  did  she  not  move, 
Now  Pallas — now  the  Queen  of  Love  ?" 

The  latter  lines  are  often  quoted,  but  it  is  pretty  to 
kuow  that  it  was  of  Lady  Anne's  Margaret  that  they  were 
said. 

It  is  probably  also  to  his  period  of  seclusion  and  leisure 
at  Waltham  that  the  early  dramatic  attempts  found  by 
Moore  among  the  papers  confided  to  him  belong.  One 
of  these  runs  to  the  length  of  three  acts,  and  is  a  work  of 
the  most  fantastic  description,  embodying,  so  far  as  it  goes, 
the  life  of  a  band  of  outlaws  calling  themselves  Devils, 


36  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

who  have  their  head-quarters  in  a  forest  and  keep  the 
neighbourhood  in  alarm.  The  heroine,  a  mysterious  and 
beautiful  maiden,  is  secluded  in  a  cave,  from  which  she  has 
never  been  allowed  to  go  out,  nor  has  she  ever  seen  the 
face  of  man,  except  that  of  the  old  hermit,  who  is  her 
guardian.  She  has  been  permitted,  however,  one  glimpse 
of  a  certain  young  huntsman,  whom  she  considers  a  phan- 
tom, until  a  second  sight  of  him,  when  he  is  taken  prisoner 
by  the  robbers,  and  unaccountably  introduced  into  the 
cave  where  she  lies  asleep,  convinces  her  of  his  reality, 
and  naturally  has  the  same  effect  upon  her  which  the 
sudden  apparition  of  Prince  Ferdinand  had  upon  Miranda. 
The  scene  is  pretty  enough  as  the  work  of  a  sentimental 
youth  in  an  age  addicted  to  the  highflown  everywhere,  and 
especially  on  the  stage.  The  hero,  when  unbound  and  left 
to  himself,  begins  his  soliloquy,  as  a  matter  of  course,  with 
a  "Ha!  where  am  I?"  but  changes  his  tone  from  despair 
to  rapture  when  he  sees  the  fair  Reginilla  whose  acquaint- 
ance he  had  so  mysteriously  made.  "  Oh,  would  she  but 
wake  and  bless  this  gloom  with  her  bright  eyes !"  he  says, 
after  half  a  page.  "  Soft ;  here's  a  lute :  perhaps  her  soul 
will  know  the  call  of  harmony."  Mrs.  Radcliffe's  lovely 
heroines,  at  a  still  later  period,  carried  their  lutes  about 
with  them  everywhere,  and  tuned  them  to  the  utterance  of 
a  favourite  copy  of  verses  in  the  most  terrible  circum- 
stances ;  so  that  the  discovery  of  so  handy  an  instrument 
in  a  robber's  cave  occasioned  no  surprise  to  the  young 
hero.  The  song  he  immediately  sung  has  been,  Moore 
confesses,  manipulated  by  himself.  "  I  have  taken  the  lib- 
erty of  supplying  a  few  rhymes  and  words  that  are  want- 
ing," he  says,  so  that  we  need  not  quote  it  as  an  example 
of  Sheridan.  But  the  performance  has  its  desired  effect, 
and  the  lady  wakes  : 


i.]  HIS  YOUTH.  37 

"  Reg.  (waking).  The  phantom,  father  !  (Seizes  his  hand.)  Oh,  do 
not — do  not  wake  me  thus  ! 

"Huntsman  {kneeling).  Thou  beauteous  sun  of  this  dark  world, 
that  mak'st  a  place  so  like  the  cave  of  death  a  heaven  to  me,  instruct 
me  how  I  may  approach  thee — how  address  thee  and  not  offend. 

"  Reg.  Oh,  how  ray  soul  could  hang  upon  those  lips  !  Speak  on  ! 
And  yet  methinks  he  should  not  kneel.  Why  are  you  afraid,  sir? 
Indeed  I  cannot  hurt  you. 

"  Hunts.  Sweet  innocence,  I  am  sure  thou  would'st  not. 

"  Reg.  Art  thou  not  he  to  whom  I  told  my  name,  and  did'st  thou 
not  say  thine  was — 

"  Hunts.  Oh!  blessed  was  the  name  that  then  thou  told'st — it  has 
been  ever  since  my  charm  and  kept  me  from  distraction.  But  may 
I  ask  how  such  sweet  excellence  as  thine  could  be  hid  in  such  a 
place  ? 

"  Reg.  Alas !  I  know  not — for  such  as  thou  I  never  saw  before, 
nor  any  like  myself. 

"  Hunts.  Nor  like  thee  ever  shall ;  but  would'st  leave  this  place, 
and  live  with  such  as  I  am  ? 

"  Reg.  Why  may  not  you  live  here  with  such  as  I  ? 

"  Hunts.  Yes,  but  I  would  carry  thee  where  all  above  an  azure 
canopy  extends,  at  night  bedropt  with  gems,  and  one  more  glorious 
lamp  that  yields  such  beautiful  light  as  love  enjoys;  while  under- 
neath a  carpet  shall  be  spread  of  flowers  to  court  the  presence  of  thy 
step,  with  such  sweet-whispered  invitations  from  the  leaves  of  shady 
groves  or  murmuring  of  silver  streams,  that  thou  shalt  think  thou 
art  in  Paradise. 

"  Reg.  Indeed ! 

"  Hunts.  Ay,  and  I'll  watch  and  wait  on  thee  all  day,  and  cull  the 
choicest  flowers,  which  while  thou  bind'st  in  the  mysterious  knot  of 
love,  I'll  tune  for  thee  no  vulgar  lays,  or  tell  thee  tales  shall  make 
thee  weep,  yet  please  thee,  while  thus  I  press  thy  hand,  and  warm  it 
thus  with  kisses. 

"  Reg.  I  doubt  thee  not — but  then  my  Governor  has  told  me  many 
a  tale  of  faithless  men,  who  court  a  lady  but  to  steal  her  peace.  .  .  . 
Then,  wherefore  could'st  thou  not  live  here  ?  For  I  do  feel,  though 
tenfold  darkness  did  surround  this  spot,  I  would  be  blest  Avould  you 
but  stay  here ;  and  if  it  make  you  sad  to  be  imprisoned  thus,  I'd 
sing  and  play  for  thee,  and  dress  thee  sweetest  fruits,  and  though 


38  RICIIARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

you  chide  mo  would  kiss  thy  tears  away,  and  hide  my  blushing  face 
upon  thy  bosom  ;  indeed  I  would.  Then  what  avails  the  gaudy  days, 
and  all  the  evil  things  I'm  told  inhabit  them,  to  those  who  have 
within  themselves  all  that  delight  and  love  and  heaven  can  give? 

"  Hunts.  My  angel,  thou  hast  indeed  the  soul  of  love. 

"  Reg.  It  is  no  ill  thing,  is  it  ? 

"  Hunts.  Oh,  most  divine — it  is  the  immediate  gift  of  heaven — " 

And  then  the  lute  is  brought  into  requisition  once  more.' 
Other  scenes  of  a,  much  less  superfine  description,  in  one 
of  which  the  hero  takes  the  semblance  of  a  dancing  bear, 
go  on  outside  this  sentimental  retirement;  and  some  hu- 
mour is  expended  on  the  trial  of  various  prisoners  secured 
by  the  robbers,  who  are  made  to  believe  that  they  have 
left  this  world  and  are  being  brought  up  before  a  hind  of 
Plato  for  judgment.  This  inflexible  judge  orders  "baths 
of  flaming  sulphur  and  the  caldron  of  boiling  lead"  for 
one  who  confesses  himself  to  have  been  a  courtier.  The 
culprit's  part,  however,  is  taken  by  a  compassionate  devil, 
who  begs  that  he  may  be  soaked  a  little  first  in  scalding 
brimstone,  to  prepare  him  for  his  final  sentence. 

Another  unfinished  sketch  called  the  Foresters  deals  with 
effects  not  quite  so  violent.  To  the  end  of  life  Sheridan 
would  threaten  smilingly  to  produce  this  play  and  outdo 
everything  else  with  it,  but  the  existing  framework  seems 
to  have  been  of  the  very  slightest.  Probably  to  a  much 
later  period  belongs  the  projected  play  upon  the  subject  of 
Affectation,  for  which  were  intended  many  memorandums 
found  written  upon  the  paper  books  in  which  his  thoughts 
were  noted.  The  subject  is  one  which,  in  the  opinion  of 
various  critics,  would  have  been  specially  adapted  to  Sheri- 
dan's powers,  and  Moore,  and  many  others  following  him, 
express  regret  that  it  should  have  been  abandoned.  But 
no  doubt  Sheridan's  instinct  warned  him  that  on  no  such 


l]  HIS  YOUTH.  39 

set  plan  could  his  faculties  work,  and  that  the  stage,  how- 
ever adapted  to  the  display  of  individual  eccentricities, 
wants  something  more  than  a  bundle  of  embodied  fads  to 
make  its  performances  tell.  Sir  Bubble  Bon,  Sir  Pere- 
grine Paradox,  the  representative  "  man  who  delights  in 
hurry  and  interruption,"  the  "  man  intriguing  only  for  the 
reputation  of  it,"  the  "  lady  who  affects  poetry,"  and  all 
the  rest,  do  well  enough  for  the  table-talk  of  the  imagina- 
tion, or  even  to  jot  down  and  play  with  in  a  note-book; 
but  Sheridan  was  better  inspired  than  to  attempt  to  make 
them  into  a  play.  lie  had  already  among  these  memo- 
randums of  his  the  first  ideas  of  almost  all  his  future  pro- 
ductions, the  primitive  notes  afterwards  to  be  developed 
into  the  brilliant  malice  of  the  scandalmongers,  the  first 
conception  of  old  Teazle,  the  earliest  adumbration  of  the 
immortal  Puff.  But  the  little  verses  which  we  have  al- 
ready quoted  were  the  best  of  his  actual  achievements  at 
this  early  period,  dictated  as  they  were  by  the  early  pas- 
sion which  made  the  careless  boy  into  a  man. 

At  least  one  other  poetical  address  of  a  similar  description 
— stilted,  yet  not  without  a  tender  breath  of  pastoral  sweet- 
ness— was  addressed  to  Eliza  after  she  became  Sheridan's 
wife,  and  told  how  Silvio  reclined  upon  "Avon's  ridgy 
bank"— 

"  Did  mock  the  meadow's  flowing  pride, 

Kail'd  at  the  dawn  and  sportive  ring  ; 
The  tabour's  call  he  did  deride, 

And  said,  It  was  not  Spring. 

"  He  scorned  the  sky  of  azure  blue, 

He  scorned  whate'er  could  mirth  bespeak ; 
He  chid  the  beam  that  drank  the  dew, 

And  chid  the  gale  that  fanned  his  glowing  cheek. 
Unpaid  the  season's  wonted  lay, 
For  still  he  sighed  and  said,  It  was  not  May." 


40  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

Which  is,  of  course,  explained  by  the  circumstance  that 
Delia  (for  the  nonce  called  Laura)  was  not  there.  Laura 
responded  in  verses  not  much  worse.  It  was  a  pretty 
commerce,  breathing-  full  of  the  time  when  shepherds  and 
shepherdesses  were  still  the  favourites  of  dainty  poetry — 
a  fashion  which  seems  in  some  danger  of  returning  with 
the  other  quaintnesscs  of  the  time.  But  this  was  after 
the  young  pair  were  united;  and  in  1772,  when  he  had 
recovered  of  his  wounds,  and  was  making  what  shift  he 
could  to  occupy  himself  in  the  solitude  of  Waltham,  study- 
ing a  little  for  a  variety,  reading  up  the  History  of  Eng- 
land and  the  works  of  Sir  William  Temple,  by  way  of 
improving  his  mind,  that  blessed  event  seemed  distant 
and  unlikely  enough. 

In  the  Lent  of  1773  Miss  Linley  came  to  London,  to 
sing  in  the  oratorios,  and  it  is  said  that  young  Sheridan 
resorted  to  the  most  romantic  expedients  to  see  her.  He 
was  near  enough  to  "  tread  on  the  heels  of  perilous  proba- 
bilities"— a  phrase  which  Moore  quotes  from  one  of  his 
letters — and  is  said  to  have  come  from  Waltham  to  Lon- 
don, and  to  have  disguised  himself  as  a  hackney  coach- 
man, and  driven  her  home  from  her  performances  on  sev- 
eral occasions.  The  anonymous  author  of  Sheridan  and 
his  Times  asserts  that  on  one  of  these  occasions,  by  some 
accident,  the  lady  was  alone,  and  that  this  opportunity  of 
communication  led  to  a  series  of  meetings,  which  at  length 
convinced  the  parents  that  further  resistance  was  hopeless. 
During  all  this  time,  it  would  appear,  the  marriage  at  Ca- 
lais was  never  referred  to,  and  was  thought  nothing  of, 
even  by  the  parties  most  concerned.  It  was  intended  ap- 
parently as  a  safeguard  to  Delia's  reputation  should  need 
occur,  but  as  nothing  more ;  which  says  a  great  deal  for 
the  romantic  generosity  of  so  ardent  a  lover  and  so  penni- 


i.]  HIS  YOUTH.  41 

less  a  man.  For  Delia  Lad  her  little  fortune,  besides  all 
the  other  charms  which  spoke  so  much  more  eloquently 
to  her  Silvio's  heart,  and  was  indeed  a  liberal  income  in 
herself,  to  any  one  who  would  take  advantage  of  it,  with 
that  lovely  voice  of  hers.  But  the  young  man  was  roman- 
tically magnanimous  and  highflying  in  his  sense  of  hon- 
our. He  was  indeed  a  very  poor  match — a  youth  without 
a  penny,  even  without  a  profession,  and  no  visible  means 
of  living — for  the  adored  siren,  about  whom  wealthy  suit- 
ors were  dangling  by  the  dozen,  no  doubt  exciting  many 
anxious  hopes  in  the. breasts  of  her  parents,  if  not  in  her 
own  faithful  bosom.  But  love  conquered  in  the  long  run, 
as  an  honest  and  honourable  sentiment,  if  it  lasts  and  can 
wait,  is  pretty  sure  to  do.  In  April,  1773,  about  a  year 
from  the  time  of  their  clandestine  marriage  at  Calais,  they 
were  married  in  the  eye  of  day,  with  all  that  was  needful 
to  make  the  union  dignified  and  respectable;  and  thus 
the  bustling  little  romance,  so  full  of  incident,  so  entirely 
ready  for  the  use  of  the  drama,  so  like  all  the  favourite 
stage-combinations  of  the  time,  came  to  an  end.  We  do 
not  hear  very  much  of  Mrs.  Sheridan  afterwards ;  indeed, 
except  the  letter  to  which  we  have  referred,  she  does  little 
to  disclose  her  personality  at  any  time,  but  there  is  some- 
thing engaging  and  attractive — a  sort  of  faint  but  sweet 
reflection — raying  out  from  her  through  all  her  life.  The 
Lydia  Languish  of  early  days — the  sentimental  and  roman- 
tic heroine  of  so  many  persecutions  and  pursuits,  of  the 
midnight  flight  and  secret  marriage — developed  into  one 
of  those  favourites  of  society,  half -artist,  half -fine -lady, 
whose  exertions  for  the  amusement  of  the  world  bring 
nothing  to  them  but  a  half-fictitious  position  and  danger- 
ous flatteries,  without  even  the  public  singer's  substantial 
reward — a  class  embracing  many  charming  and  attractive 
3 


42  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap.  i. 

women,  victims  of  their  own  gifts  and  graces.  Mrs.  Sher- 
idan was,  however,  at  the  same  time — at  least,  in  all  the 
early  part  of  her  career — a  devoted  wife,  and  seems  to 
have  done  her  best  for  her  brilliant  husband,  and  formed 
no  small  item  in  his  success  as  well  as  in  his  happiness  as 
long  as  her  existence  lasted.  It  is  said  that  she  disliked 
the  life  of  a  singer,  and  it  is  certain  that  she  acquiesced 
in  his  resolution  to  withdraw  her  from  all  public  appear- 
ances ;  but  even  in  that  point  it  is  very  likely  that  there 
was  some  unconsidered  sacrifice  in  her  submission.  "  Hers 
was  truly  a  voice  as  of  the  church  choir,"  says  a  contem- 
porary quoted  by  Moore,  "and  she  was  always  ready  to 
sing  without  any  pressing.  She  sang  here  a  great  deal, 
and  to  my  infinite  delight ;  but  what  had  a  peculiar  charm 
was,  that  she  used  to  take  my  daughter,  then  a  child,  on 
her  lap,  and  sing  a  number  of  childish  songs  with  such  a 
playfulness  of  manner  and  such  a  sweetness  of  look  and 
voice  as  was  quite  enchanting." 


CHAPTER   II. 

HIS    FIRST    DRAMATIC    WORKS. 

Married  at  last  and  happy,  after  so  much  experience  of 
disappointment  and  hope  deferred,  Sheridan  and  his  young 
wife  took  a  cottage  in  the  country,  and  retired  there  to 
enjoy  their  long-wished-for  life  together,  and  to  consider 
an  important,  but  it  would  seem  not  absolutely  essential, 
point-— what  they  were  to  do  for  their  living.  Up  to  this 
point  they  have  been  so  entirely  the  personages  of  a 
drama,  that  it  is  quite  in  order  "that  they  should  retire  to 
a  rose-covered  cottage,  with  nothing  particular  to  live  upon ; 
and  that  the  young  husband,  though  without  any  trade  of 
his  own  by  which  he  could  earn  a  dinner,  should  magnifi- 
cently waive  off  all  offers  of  employment  for  his  wife,  who 
had  a  trade  —  and  a  profitable  one.  He  was  still  but 
twenty-two  and  she  nineteen,  and  he  had  hitherto  managed 
to  get  all  that  was  necessary,  besides  post-chaises  and. a 
considerable  share  of  the  luxuries  of  the  time,  as  the  lilies 
get  their  bravery,  without  toiling  or  spinning ;  so  that  it 
is  evident  the  young  man  confronted  fate  with  very  little 
alarm,  and  his  proud  attitude  of  family  head  and  master 
of  his  own  wife  is  in  the  highest  degree  edifying  as  well 
as  amusing.  We  can  scarcely  help  doubting  greatly 
whether  a  prima  donna  even  of  nineteen  would  let  herself 
be  disposed  of  now  by  such  an  absolute  authority.     The 


44  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

tone  of  the  letter  in  which  he  communicates  to  his  father- 
in-law  his  lofty  determination  in  this  respect  will  show 
the  young  men  of  to-day  the  value  of  the  privileges  which 
they  have,  it  is  to  be  feared,  partially  resigned : 

"  Yours  of  the  3d  instant  did  not  reach  me  till  yesterday,  by  reason 
of  its  missing  us  at  Morden.  As  to  the  principal  point  it  treats  of, 
I  had  given  my  answer  some  days  ago  to  Mr.  Isaac,  of  Worcester. 
He  had  enclosed  a  letter  from  Storace  to  my  wife,  in  which  he  dwells 
much  on  the  nature  of  the  agreement  you  had  made  for  her  eight 
months  ago,  and  adds  that  '  as  this  is  no  new  application,  but  a  re- 
quest that  you  (Mrs.  S.)  will  fulfil  a  positive  engagement,  the  breach 
of  which  would  prove  of  fatal  consequence  to  our  meeting,  I  hope 
Mr.  Sheridan  will  think  his  honour  in  some  degree  concerned  in  ful- 
filling it.'  Mr.  Storace,  in  order  to  enforce  Mr.  Isaac's  argument, 
showed  me  his  letter  on  the  same  subject  to  him,  which  begins  with 
saying,  '  We  must  have  Mrs.  Sheridan  somehow  or  other  if  possible, 
the  plain  English  of  which  is  that  if  her  husband  is  not  willing  to 
let  her  perform,  we  will  persuade  him  that  he  acts  dishonourably  in 
preventing  her  from  fulfilling  a  positive  engagement.'  This  I  con- 
ceive to  be  the  very  worst  mode  of  application  that  could  have  been 
taken ;  as  there  really  is  not  common-sense  in  the  idea  that  my 
honour  can  be  concerned  in  my  wife's  fulfilling  an  engagement 
which  it  is  impossible  she  should  ever  have  made.  Nor  (as  I  wrote 
to  Mr.  Isaac)  can  you  who  gave  the  promise,  whatever  it  was,  be  in 
the  least  charged  with  the  breach  of  it,  as  your  daughter's  marriage 
was  an  event  which  must  always  have  been  looked  to  by  them'  as 
quite  as  natural  a  period  to  your  rights  over  her  as  her  death.  And 
in  my  opinion  it  would  have  been  just  as  reasonable  to  have  applied 
to  you  to  fulfil  your  engagement  in  the  latter  case  than  in  the  former. 
As  to  the  imprudence  of  declining  this  engagement,  I  do  not  think, 
even  were  we  to  suppose  that  my  wife  should  ever  on  any  occasion 
appear  again  in  public,  there  would  be  the  least  at  present.  For  in- 
stance, I  have  had  a  gentleman  with  me  from  Oxford  (where  they  do 
not  claim  the  least  right  as  from  an  engagement)  who  has  endeavoured 
to  place  the  idea  of  my  complimenting  the  University  with  Betsey's 
performance  in  the  strongest  light  of  advantage  to  me.  This  he  said 
on  my  declining  to  let  her  perform  on  any  agreement.     He  likewise 


ii.]  HIS  FIRST  DRAMATIC  WORKS.  45 

informed  me  that  he  had  just  left  Lord  North  (the  Chancellor),  who, 
he  assured  me,  would  look  upon  it  as  the  highest  compliment,  and 
had  expressed  himself  so  to  him.  Now,  should  it  be  a  point  of  in- 
clination or  convenience  to  me  to  break  my  resolution  with  regard  to 
Betsey's  performing,  there  surely  would  be  more  sense  in  obliging 
Lord  North  (and  probably  from  his  own  application)  than  Lord 
Coventry  and  Mr.  Isaac ;  for  were  she  to  sing  at  Worcester,  there 
would  not  be  the  least  compliment  in  her  performing  at  Oxford." 


The  poor  pretty  wife,  smiling  passive  in  the  background 
while  ray  young  lord  considers  whether  he  will  "  compli- 
ment the  University  "  with  her  performance,  is  a  spectacle 
which  ought  to  be  impressive  to  the  brides  of  the  present 
day,  who  take  another  view  of  their  position ;  but  there  is 
a  delightful  humour  in  this  turning  of  the  tables  upon  the 
stern  father  who  had  so  often  snubbed  young  Sheridan, 
and  who  must  have  regarded,  one  would  suppose,  his  pres- 
ent impotence  and  the  sublime  superiority  of  the  new  pro- 
prietor of  Betsey  with  anything  but  pleasant  feelings. 
Altogether  the  attitude  of  the  group  is  very  instructive  in 
view  of  the  changes  of  public  opinion  on  this  point.  The 
most  arbitrary  husband  nowadays  would  think  it  expedi- 
ent at  least  to  associate  his  wife's  name  with  his  own  in 
any  such  refusal ;  but  the  proprietorship  was  un doubting 
in  Sheridan's  day.  It  will  be  remembered  that  Dr.  John- 
son highly  applauded  the  young  gentleman's  spirit  and 
resolution  in  this  point. 

However,  though  she  had  so  soon  become  Betsey  and 
his  property,  so  far  as  business  was  concerned,  the  cottage 
at  East  Burnham,  among  the  beech-trees  and  roses,  still 
contained  a  tender  pair  of  lovers ;  and  Silvio  still  addressed 
to  Delia  the  sweetest  compliments  in  verse.  When  he  is 
absent  he  appeals  to  Hymen  to  find  something  for  him  to 
do  to  make  the  hours  pass  when  away  from  her: 


46  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

"Alas !  thou  hast  no  wings,  oh,  Time ; 
It  was  some  thoughtless  lover's  rhyme, 
Who,  writing  in  his  Chloe's  view, 
Paid  her  the  compliment  through  you. 
For  had  he,  if  he  truly  lov'd, 
But  once  the  pangs  of  absence  prov'd, 
He'd  cropt  thy  wings,  and  in  their  stead 
Have  painted  thee  with  heels  of  lead.'* 

Thus  Betsey's  chains  were  gilded  ;  and  in  all  likelihood 
she  was  totally  unconscious  of  them,  never  having  been 
awakened  to  any  right  of  womankind  beyond  that  of 
being  loved  and  flattered.  The  verse  is  not  of  very  high 
quality,  but  the  sentiment  is  charming,  and  entirely  ap- 
propriate to  the  position  : 

"  For  me  who,  when  I'm  happy,  owe 
No  thanks  to  Fortune  that  I'm  so, 
Who  long  have  learn'd  to  look  at  one 
Dear  object,  and  at  one  alone, 
For  all  the  joy  and  all  the  sorrow 
That  gilds  the  day  or  threats  the  morrow. 
I  never  felt  thy  footsteps  light 
But  when  sweet  love  did  aid  thy  flight, 
And  banished  from  his  blest  dominion, 
I  car'd  not  for  thy  borrowed  pinion. 

True,  she  is  mine  ;  and  since  she's  mine 
At  trifles  I  should  not  repine  ; 
But,  oh  !  the  miser's  real  pleasure 
Is  not  in  knowing  he  has  treasure ; 
He  must  behold  his  golden  store, 
And  feel  and  count  his  riches  o'er. 
Thus  I,  of  one  dear  gem  possest, 
And  in  that  treasure  only  blest, 
There  every  day  would  seek  delight, 
And  clasp  the  casket  every  night." 

The  condition  of  the  young  pair  in  any  reasonable  point 
of  view  at  this  beginning  of  their  life  was  as  little  hopeful 


ii.]  HIS  FIRST  DRAMATIC  WORKS.  47 

as  can  be  conceived.  The  three  thousand  pounds  left  to 
Miss  Linley  by  Mr.  Long  was  their  sole  fortune,  if  it  still 
remained  intact.  The  wife  was  rendered  helpless  by  the 
husband's  grand  prohibition  of  her  exertions,  and  he  him- 
self had  nothing  to  do,  nor  knew  how  to  do  anything;  for 
even  to  literature,  that  invariable  refuge,  he  scarcely  seems 
as  yet  to  have  turned  his  eyes  with  any  serious  intent. 
The  manner  in  which  they  plunged  into  life,  however,  is 
characteristic.  When  winter  made  their  Burnham  cottage 
undesirable,  and  the  time  of  honey-mooning  was  well  over, 
they  went  to  town  to  live  with  the  composer  Storace, 
where  no  doubt  Betsey's  talent  was  largely  exercised,  though 
not  in  public,  and  probably  helped  to  make  friends  for  the 
young  pair ;  for  we  hear  of  them  next  year  as  paying  vis- 
its, among  other  places,  at  the  house  of  Canning;  and  in 
the  winter  of  1774  they  established  themselves  in  Orchard 
Street,  Portman  Square,  in  a  house  of  their  own,  furnished, 
an  anonymous  biographer  says, "  in  the  most  costly  style," 
at  the  expense  of  Linley,  with  perhaps  some  contribution 
from  that  inexhaustible  three  thousand  pounds : 

"  His  house  was  open,"  says  this  historian,  "  for  the  reception  of 
guests  of  quality  attracted  by  his  wit,  the  superior  accomplishments 
of  his  wife,  and  the  elegance  of  his  entertainments.  His  dinners 
were  upon  the  most  expensive  scale,  his  wines  of  the  finest  quality  ; 
while  Mrs.  Sheridan's  soirees  were  remarkable  not  more  for  their 
brilliance  than  the  gay  groups  of  the  most  beautiful,  accomplished, 
and  titled  lady  visitants  of  the  Court  of  St.  James.  Mrs.  Sheridan's 
routs  were  the  great  attraction  of  the  season.  A  friend — a  warm 
and  sincere  friend — remonstrating  with  Sheridan  on  the  instability 
of  his  means  of  supporting  such  a  costly  establishment,  he  tersely 
replied, '  My  dear  friend,  it  is  my  means.'  " 

Such  a  description  will  be  taken  for  what  it  is  worth, 
but  there  seems  internal  evidence  that  the  anecdote  with 


48  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

which  it  concludes  might  have  been  true.  And  certainly, 
for  a  young  man  beginning  the  arduous  occupation  of  liv- 
ing on  his  wits,  a  pretty  house  and  prettier  wife  and  good 
music  would  form  an  excellent  stock-in-trade  ;  and  the  new 
home  itself  being  entirely  beyond  any  visible  means  they 
had,  every  other  prodigality  would  be  comprehensible. 
By  this  time  he  had  begun  the  composition  of  a  play,  and 
considered  himself  on  the  eve  of  publishing  a  book,  which, 
lie  "  thinks,  will  do  me  some  credit,"  as  he  informs  his 
father-in-law,  but  which  has  never  been  heard  of  from  that 
time  to  this,  so  far  as  appears.  Another  piece  of  informa- 
tion contained  in  the  letter  in  which  this  apoeff phal  work 
is  announced  shows  for  the  first  time  a  better  prospect 
for  the  young  adventurer.  He  adds,  "There  will  be  a 
comedy  of  mine  in  rehearsal  at  Covent  Garden  within  a 
few  days": 

"  I  have  done  it  at  Mr.  Harris's  (the  manager's)  own  request :  it  is 
now  complete  in  his  hands,  and  preparing  for  the  stage.  He  and 
some  of  his  friends  also  who  have  heard  it  assure  me  in  the  most 
flattering  terms  that  there  is  not  a  doubt  of  its  success.  It  will  be 
very  well  played,  and  Harris  tells  me  that  the  least  shilling  I  shall  get 
(if  it  succeeds)  will  be  six  hundred  pounds.  I  shall  make  no  secret 
of  it  towards  the  time  of  representation,  that  it  may  not  lose  any  sup- 
port my  friends  can  give  it.  I  had  not  written  a  line  of  it  two  months 
ago,  except  a  scene  or  two,  which  I  believe  you  have  seen  in  an  odd 
act  of  a  little  farce." 

This  was  the  Rivals,  which  was  performed  at  Covent 
Garden,  on  the  17th  of  January,  1775 — nearly  three  years 
after  his  marriage.  How  he  existed  in  the  meantime,  and 
made  friends  and  kept  up  his  London  house,  is  left  to  the 
imagination.  Probably  it  was  done  upon  that  famous 
three  thousand  pounds,  which  appears,  like  the  widow's 
cruse,  to  answer  all  demands. 


ii.]  HIS  FIRST  DRAMATIC  WORKS.  49 

The  Rivals  was  not  successful  the  first  night,  and  the 
hopes  of  the  young  dramatist  must  have  met  with  a  terri- 
ble check ;  but  the  substitution  of  one  actor  for  another 
in  the  part  of  Sir  Lucius  OTrigger,  and  such  emendations 
as  practical  sense  suggested  as  soon  as  it  had  been  put  on 
the  stage,  secured  for  it  one  continued  triumph  ever  after. 
It  is  now  more  than  a  century  since  critical  London  watched 
the  new  comedy,  and  the  hearts  of  the  Linleys  thrilled 
from  London  to  Bath,  and  old  Thomas  Sheridan,  still  un- 
reconciled to  his  son,  came,  silent  and  sarcastic,  to  the 
theatre  to  see  what  the  young  good-for-nothing  had  made 
of  it ;  but  the  world  has  never  changed  its  opinion.  '  What  a 
moment  for  Betsey  in  the  house  where  she  had  everything 
that  heart  of  woman  could  desire  except  the  knowledge 
that  all  was  honest  and  paid  for — a  luxury  which  outdoes 
all  the  rest — and  for  her  husband,  standing  in  the  wings, 
watching  his  father's  face,  whom  he  dared  not  go  and 
speak  to,  and  knowing  that  his  whole  future  hung  in  the 
balance,  and  that  in  case  of  success  all  his  follies  would  be 
justified !  "  But  now  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  its  suc- 
cess," cries  little  Miss  Linley  from  Bath,  in  a  flutter  of 
excitement,  "  as  it  has  certainly  got  through  more  difficul- 
ties than  any  comedy  which  has  not  met  its  doom  the  first 
night."  The  Linleys  were  convinced  in  their  own  minds 
that  it  was  Mrs.  Sheridan  who  had  written  "  the  much  ad- 
mired epilogue."  "  How  I  long  to  read  it !"  cries  the  little 
sister.  "  What  makes  it  more  certain  is  that  my  father 
guessed  it  was  yours  the  first  time  he  saw  it  praised  in  the 
paper."  There  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  the  guess  was 
true,  but  it  is  a  pretty  exhibition  of  family  feeling. 

The  Rivals — to  the  ordinary  spectator  who,  looking  on 
with  uncritical  pleasure  at  the  progress  of  that  episode  of 
mimic  life,  in  which  everybody's  remarks  are  fall  of  such 


50  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

a  quintessence  of  wit  as  only  a  very  few  remarkable  per- 
sons are  able  to  emulate  in  actual  existence,  accepts  the 
piece  for  the  sake  of  these  and  other  qualities — is  so  little 
like  a  transcript  from  any  actual  conditions  of  humanity 
that  to  consider  it  as  studied  from  the  life  would  be  ab- 
surd, and  we  receive  these  creations  of  fancy  as  belonging 
to  a  world  entirely  apart  from  the  real.  But  the  reader 
who  has  accompanied  Sheridan  through  the  previous  chap- 
ter of  his  history  will  be  inclined,  on  the  contrary,  to  feel 
that  the  young  dramatist  has  but  selected  a  few  incidents 
from  the  still  more  curious  comedy  of  life  in  which  he 
himself  had  so  recently  been  one  of  the  actors,  and  in 
which  elopements,  duels,  secret  correspondences,  and  all 
the  rest  of  the  simple-artificial  round,  were  the  order  of 
the  day.  Whether  he  drew  his  characters  from  the  life  it 
is  needless  to  inquire,  or  if  there  was  an  actual  prototype 
for  Mrs.  Malaprop.  Nothing,  however,  in  imagination  is 
so  highly  fantastical  as  reality ;  and  it  is  very  likely  that 
some  two  or  three  ladies  of  much  pretension  and  gentility 
flourished  upon  the  parade  and  frequented  the  Pump-room, 
from  whose  conversation  her  immortal  parts  of  speech 
were  appropriated;  but  this  is  of  very  little  importance  in 
comparison  with  the  delightful  success  of  the  result.  The 
Rivals  is  no  such  picture  of  life  in  Bath  as  that  which, 
half  a  century  later,  in  altered  times,  which  yet  were  full 
of  humours  of  their  own,  Miss  Austen  made  for  us  in  all 
the  modest  flutter  of  youthful  life  and  hopes.  Sheridan's 
brilliant  dramatic  sketch  is  slight  in  comparison,  though 
far  more  instantly  effective,  and  with  a  concentration  in 
its  sharp  effects  which  the  stage  requires.  But  yet,  no 
doubt,  in  the  bustle  and  hurry  of  the  successive  arrivals, 
in  the  eager  brushing  up  of  the  countryman  new-launched 
on  such  a  scene,  and  the  aspect  of  the  idle  yet  bustling 


ii.]  HIS  FIRST  DRAMATIC  WORKS.  51 

society,  all  agog  for  excitement  and  pleasure,  the  brisk 
little  holiday  city  was  delightfully  recognisable  in  the  eyes 
of  those  to  whom  "the  Bath"  represented  all  those  vaca- 
tion rambles  and  excursions  over  the  world  which  amuse 
our  leisure  now.  Scarcely  ever  was  play  so  full  of  liveli- 
ness and  interest  constructed  upon  a  slighter  machinery. 
The  Rivals  of  the  title,  by  means  of  the  most  simple  yet 
amusing  of  mystifications,  are  one  person.  The  gallant 
young  lover,  who  is  little  more  than  the  conventional 
type  of  that  well-worn  character,  but  a  manly  and  live- 
ly one,  has  introduced  himself  to  the  romantic  heroine 
in  the  character  of  Ensign  Beverley,  a  poor  young  subal- 
tern, instead  of  his  own  much  more  eligible  personality  as 
the  heir  of  Sir  Anthony  Absolute,  a  baronet  with  four 
thousand  a  year,  and  has  gained  the  heart  of  the  senti- 
mental Lydia,  who  prefers  love  in  a  cottage  to  the  fiuest 
settlements,  and  looks  forward  to  an  elopement  and  the 
loss  of  a  great  part  of  her  fortune  with  delight :  when  his 
plans  are  suddenly  confounded  by  the  arrival  of  his  father 
on  the  scene,  bent  on  marrying  him  forthwith  in  his  own 
character  to  the  same  lady.  Thus  he  is  at  the  same  time 
the  romantic  and  adored  Beverley  and  the  detested  Cap- 
tain Absolute  in  her  eyes;  and  how  to  reconcile  her  to 
marrying  peaceably  and  with  the  approval  of  all  her  be- 
longings, instead  of  clandestinely  and  with  all  the  *eclat  of 
a  secret  running  away,  is  the  problem.  This,  however,  is 
solved  precipitately  by  the  expedient  of  a  duel  with  the 
third  rival,  Bob  Acres,  which  shows  the  fair  Lydia  that  the 
safety  of  her  Beverley,  even  if  accompanied  by  the  con- 
gratulations of  friends  and  a  humdrum  marriage,  is  the 
one  thing  to  be  desired.  Thus  the  whole  action  of  the 
piece  turns  upon  a  mystification,  which  affords  some  de- 
lightfully comic  scenes,  but  few  of  those  occasions  of  sus- 


52  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

pense  and  uncertainty  which  give  interest  to  the  drama. 
This  we  find  in  the  brisk  and  delightful  movement  of  the 
piece,  in  the  broad  but  most  amusing  sketches  of  charac- 
ter, and  the  unfailing  wit  and  sparkle  of  the  dialogue.  In 
fact,  we  believe  that  many  an  audience  has  enjoyed  the 
play,  and,  what  is  more  wonderful,  many  a  reader  laughed 
over  it  in  private,  without  any  clear  realisation  of  the  sto- 
ry at  all,  so  completely  do  Sir  Anthony's  fits  of  temper, 
and  Mrs.  Malaprop's  fine  language  and  stately  presence, 
and  the  swagger  of  Bob  Acres,  occupy  and  amuse  us. 
Even  Faulkland,  the  jealous  and  doubting,  who  invents  a 
new  misery  for  himself  at  every  word,  and  finds  an  occa- 
sion for  wretchedness  even  in  the  smiles  of  his  mistress, 
which  are  always  either  too  cold  or  too  warm  for  him,  is 
so  laughable  in  his  starts  aside  at  every  new  suggestion  of 
jealous  fancy,  that  we  forgive  him  not  only  a  great  deal 
of  fine  language,  but  the  still  greater  drawback  of  having 
nothing  to  do  with  the  action  of  the  piece  at  alU 

Mrs.  Malaprop's  ingenious  "  derangement  of  epitaphs  " 
is  her  chief  distinction  to  the  popular  critic;  and  even 
though  such  a  great  competitor  as  Dogberry  has  occu- 
pied the  ground  before  her,  those  delightful  absurdities 
have  never  been  surpassed.  But  justice  has  hardly  been 
done  to  the  individual  character  of  this  admirable  if  broad 
sketch  of  a  personage  quite  familiar  in  such  scenes  as  that 
which  Bath  presented  a  century  ago,  the  plausible,  well- 
bred  woman,  with  a  great  deal  of  vanity,  and  no  small 
share  of  good-nature,  whose  inversion  of  phrases  is  quite 
representative  of  the  blurred  realisation  she  has  of  sur- 
rounding circumstances,  and  who  is  quite  sincerely  puzzled 
by  the  discovery  that  she  is  not  so  well  qualified  to  enact 
the  character  of  Delia  as  her  niece  would  be.  Mrs.  Mala- 
prop  has  none  of  the  harshness  of  Mrs.  Hardcastle,  in  She 


n.]  his  FIRST  DRAMATIC  WORKS.  53 

Stoops  to  Conquer,  and  we  take  it  unkind  of  Captain  Ab- 
solute to  call  her  "a  weatherbeaten  she  -  dragon."  The 
complacent  nod  of  her  head,  the  smirk  on  her  face,  her 
delightful  self-satisfaction  and  confidence  in  her  "  parts  of 
speech,"  have  nothing  repulsive  in  them.  No  doubt  she 
imposed  upon  Bob  Acres ;  and  could  Catherine  Morland 
and  Mrs.  Allen  have  seen  her  face  and  heard  her  talk,  these 
ladies  would,  we  feel  sure,  have  been  awed  by  her  presence. 
And  she  is  not  unkind  to  Lydia,  though  the  minx  deserves 
it,  and  has  no  desire  to  appropriate  her  fortune.  She  smiles 
upon  us  still  in  many  a  watering-place  —  large,  gracious, 
proud  of  her  conversational  powers,  always  a  delightful 
figure  to  meet  with,  and  filling  the  shop -keeping  ladies 
with  admiration.  Sir  Anthon}^,  though  so  amusing  on 
stage,  is  more  conventional,  since  we  know  he  must  get 
angry  rjresenjjy  whenever  we  meet  him,  although  his  com- 
ing round  again  is  equally  certain ;  but  Mrs.  Malaprop  is 
never  quite  to  be  calculated  upon,  and  is  always  capable 
of  a  new  simile  as  captivating  as  that  of  the  immortal 
"  allegory  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile." 

The  other  characters,  though  full  of  brilliant  talk,  clev- 
erness, and  folly,  have  less  originality.  The  country  hob- 
bledehoy, matured  into  a  dandy  and  braggart  by  his  en- 
trance into  the  intoxicating  excitement  of  Bath  society,  is 
comical  in  the  highest  degree;  but  he  is  not  characteristi- 
cally human.  While  Mrs.  Malaprop  can  hold  her  ground 
with  Dogbeny,  Bob  Acres  is  not  fit  to  be  mentioned  in 
the  same  breath  with  the  "  exquisite  reasons  "  of  that  de- 
lightful knight,  Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek.  And  thus  it  be- 
comes at  once  apparent  that  Sheridan's  eye  for  a  situation, 
and  the  details  that  make  up  a  striking  combination  on 
the  stage,  was  far  more  remarkable  than  his  insight  into 
human  motives  and  action.     There  is  no   scene  on  the 


54  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [cuai\ 

stage  which  retains  its  power  of  amusing  an  ordinary 
audience  more  brilliantly  than  that  of  the  proposed  duel, 
where  the  wittiest  of  boobies  confesses  to  feeling  his 
valour  ooze  out  at  his  finger-ends,  and  the  fire-eating  Sir 
Lucius  promises,  to  console  him,  that  he  shall  be  pickled 
and  sent  home  to  rest  with  his  fathers,  if  not  content 
with  the  snug  lying  in  the  abbey.  The  two  men  are  lit- 
tle more  than  symbols  of  the  slightest  description,  but 
their  dialogue  is  instinct  with  wit,  and  that  fun,  the  most 
English  of  qualities,  which  does  riot  reach  the  height  of 
humour,  yet  overwhelms  even  gravity  itself  with  a  laugh- 
ter in  which  there  is  no  sting  or  bitterness.  Moliere  some- 
times attains  this  effect,  but  rarely,  having  too  much  mean- 
ing in  him ;  but  with  Shakspeare  it  is  frequent  amongst 
higher  things.  And  in  Sheridan  this  gift  of  innocent 
ridicule  and  quick  embodiment  of  the  ludicrous  without 
malice  or  arriere-pensee  reaches  to  such  heights  of  excel- 
lence as  have  given  his  nonsense  a  sort  of  immortality. 

It  is,  however,  difficult  to  go  far  in  discussion  or  an- 
alysis of  a  literary  production  which  attempts  no  deeper 
investigation  into  human  nature  than  this.  Sheridan's 
art,  from  its  very  beginning,  was  theatrical,  if  we  may  use 
the  word,  rather  than  dramatic.  It  aimed  at  strong  situ- 
ations and  highly  effective  scenes  rather  than  at  a  finely 
constructed  story,  or  the  working  out  of  either  plot  or 
passion.  There  is  nothing  to  be  discovered  in  it  by  the 
student,  as  in  those  loftier  dramas  which  deal  with  the 
higher  qualities  and  developments  of  the  human  spirit. 
It  is  possible  to  excite  a  very  warm  controversy  in  almost 
any  company  of  ordinarily  educated  people  at  any  mo- 
ment upon  the  character  of  Hamlet.  And  criticism  will 
always  find  another  word  to  say  even  upon  the  less  pro- 
found but  delightful  mysteries  of  such  a  poetical  creation 


ii.]  HIS  FIRST  DRAMATIC  WORKS.  55 

as  Rosalind,  all  glowing  with  ever  varied  life  and  love  and 
fancy.  But  the  lighter  drama  with  which  we  have  now 
to  deal  hides  no  depths  under  its  brilliant  surface.  The 
pretty,  fantastical  Lydia,  with  her  romances,  her  impatience 
of  ordinary  life,  her  hot  little  spark  of  temper,  was  new 
to  the  stage,  and  when  she  finds  a  fitting  representative 
can  be  made  delightful  upon  it;  but  there  is  nothing 
further  to  find  out  about  her.  The  art  is  charming,  the 
figures  full  of  vivacity,  the  touch  that  sets  them  before  us 
exquisite :  except,  indeed,  in  the  Faulkland  scenes,  prob- 
ably intended  as  a  foil  for  the  brilliancy  of  the  others,  in 
which  Julia's  magnificent  phrases  are  too  much  for  us, 
and  make  us  deeply  grateful  to  Sheridan  for  the  discrim- 
ination which  kept  him — save  in  one  appalling  instance — 
from  the  serious  drama.  But  there  are  no  depths  to  be 
sounded,  and  no  suggestions  to  be  carried  out.  While, 
however,  its  merits  as  literature  are  thus  lessened,  its  at- 
tractions as  a  play  are  increased.  There  never  was  a 
comedy  more  dear  to  actors,  as  there  never  was  one  more 
popular  on  the  stage.  The  even  balance  of  its  characters, 
the  equality  of  the  parts,  scarcely  one  of  them  being  quite 
insignificant,  and  each  affording  scope  enough  for  a  good 
player  to  show  what  is  in  him,  must  make  it  always  pop- 
ular in  the  profession.  It  is,  from  the  same  reason,  the 
delight  of  amateurs. 

Moore  quotes  from  an  old  copy  of  the  play  a  humorous 
dedication  written  by  Tickell,  Sheridan's  brother-in-law,  to 
Indolence.  "  There  is  a  propriety  in  prefixing  your  name 
to  a  work  begun  entirely  at  your  suggestion  and  finished 
under  your  auspices,"  Tickell  says ;  and,  notwithstanding 
his  biographer's  attempt  to  prove  that  Sheridan  polished 
all  he  wrote  with  extreme  care,  and  cast  and  recast  his  lit- 
erary efforts,  there  is  an  air  of  ease  and  lightness  in  his 


56  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

earlier  work  which  makes  the  dedication  sufficiently  ap- 
propriate. It  must  have  amused  his  own  fancy  while  he 
wrote,  as  it  has  amused  his  audience  ever  since.  It  is  the 
one  blossom  of  production  which  had  yet  appeared  in  so 
many  easy  years.  A  wide  margin  of  leisure,  of  pleasure, 
of  facile  life,  extends  around  it.  It  was  done  quickly,  it 
appears,  when  once  undertaken — a  pleasing  variety  upon 
the  featureless  course  of  months  and  years.  The  preface 
which  Sheridan  himself  prefixed  to  the  play  when  printed 
justifies  itself  on  the  score  that  "the  success  of  the  piece  has 
probably  been  founded  on  a  circumstance  which  the  author 
is  informed  has  not  before  attended  a  theatrical  trial": 

"  I  need  scarcely  add  that  the  circumstance  alluded  to  was  the 
withdrawing  of  the  piece  to  remove  these  imperfections  in  the  first 
representation  which  were  too  obvious  to  escape  reprehension,  and 
too  numerous  to  admit  of  a  hasty  correction. ...  It  were  unnecessary 
to  enter  into  any  further  extenuation  of  what  was  thought  exception- 
able in  this  play,  but  that  it  has  been  said  that  the  managers  should 
have  prevented  some  of  the  defects  before  its  appearance  to  the  pub- 
lic— and,  in  particular,  the  uncommon  length  of  the  piece  as  repre- 
sented the  first  night.  It  were  an  ill  return  for  the  most  liberal  and 
gentlemanly  conduct  on  their  side  to  surfer  any  censure  to  rest  where 
none  was  deserved.  Hurry  in  writing  has  long  been  exploded  as  an 
excuse  for  an  author ;  however,  in  the  dramatic  line,  it  may  happen 
that  both  an  author  and  a  manager  may  wish  to  fill  a  chasm  in  the 
entertainment  of  the  public  with  a  hastiness  not  altogether  culpable. 
The  season  was  advanced  when  I  first  put  the  play  into  Mr.  Harris's 
hands ;  it  was  at  that  time  at  least  double  the  length  of  any  acting 
comedy.  I  profited  by  his  judgment  and  experience  in  the  curtail- 
ing of  it,  till  I  believe  his  feeling  for  the  vanity  of  a  young  author 
got  the  better  of  his  desire  for  correctness,  and  he  left  so  many  ex- 
crescences remaining  because  he  had  assisted  in  pruning  so  many 
more.  Hence,  though  I  was  not  uninformed  that  the  acts  were  still 
too  long,  I  flattered  myself  that  after  the  first  trial  I  might  with 
safer  judgment  proceed  to  remove  what  should  appear  to  have  been 
most  dissatisfactory." 


ii]  HIS  FIRST  DRAMATIC  WORKS.  57 

These  were,  it  is  true,  days  of  leisure,  when  nothing  was 
pushed  and  hurried  on,  as  now.  But  it  would  require,  one 
would  think,  no  little  firmness  and  courage  on  the  part  of 
a  young  author  to  risk  the  emendation  of  errors  so  serious 
after  an  unfavourable  first-night,  and  a  great  confidence  on 
the  part  of  the  manager  to  permit  such  an  experiment. 
But  there  are  some  men  who  impress  all  around  them 
with  such  a  certainty  of  power  and  success,  that  even 
managers  dare,  and  publishers  volunteer,  in  their  favour. 
Sheridan  was  evidently  one  of  these  men.  There  was  an 
atmosphere  of  triumph  about  him.  He  had  carried  off 
his  siren  from  all  competitors ;  he  had  defied  all  induce- 
ments to  give  her  up  to  public  hearing  after;  he  had 
flown  in  the  face  of  prudence  and  every  frugal  tradition. 
And,  so  far  as  an  easy  and  happy  life  went,  he  was  appar- 
ently succeeding  in  that  attempt.  So  he  was  allowed  to 
take  his  unsuccessful  comedy  off  the  stage  and  trim  it  into 
his  own  guise  of  triumph.  We  are  not  told  how  long 
the  interval  was,  which  would  have  been  instructive  (the 
anonymous  biographer  says  "  a  few  days  ").  It  was  pro- 
duced in  January,  however,  and  a  month  later  we  hear  of 
it  in  preparation  at  Bath,  where  its  success  was  extraordi- 
nary. The  same  witness,  whom  we  have  just  quoted, 
adds  that  "  Sheridan's  prospective  six  hundred  pounds 
was  more  than  doubled  by  its  success  and  the  liberality 
of  the  manager." 

He  had  thus  entered  fully  upon  his  career  as  a  drama- 
tist. In  the  same  year  he  wrote — in  gratitude,  it  is  said, 
to  the  Irish  actor  who  had  saved  the  Rivals  by  his  felic- 
itous representation  of  Sir  Lucius  —  the  farce  called  St. 
Patrick' 's  Day  ;  or,  the  Scheming  Lieutenant,  a  very  slight 
production,  founded  on  the  tricks,  so  familiar  to  comedy, 
of  a  lover's  ingenuity  to  get  entrance  into  the  house  of 


58  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

his  mistress.  The  few  opening  sentences,  which  arc  en- 
tirely characteristic  of  Sheridan,  are  almost  the  best  part 
of  the  production :  they  are  spoken  by  a  party  of  soldiers 
coming  with  a  complaint  to  their  officer : 

"  1st  Sol.  I  say,  you  are  wrong ;  we  should  all  speak  together,  each 
for  himself,  and  all  at  once,  that  we  may  be  heard  the  better. 
"  2c?  Sol.  Right,  Jack  ;  we'll  argue  in  platoons. 
"  3d  Sol.  Ay,  ay,  let  him  have  our  grievances  in  a  volley." 

The  lieutenant,  whose  suit  is  scorned  by  the  parents  of 
his  Lauretta,  contrives,  by  the  aid  of  a  certain  Dr.  Rosy,  a 
comic,  but  not  very  comic,  somewhat  long-winded  person- 
age, to  get  into  the  house  of  Justice  Credulous,  her  father, 
as  a  servant;  but  is  discovered  and  turned  out.  He  then 
writes  a  letter  asserting  that,  in  his  first  disguise,  he  has 
given  the  Justice  poison,  an  assertion  which  is  met  with 
perfect  faith ;  upon  which  he  comes  in  again  as  the  famous 
quack  doctor,  so  familiar  to  us  in  the  pages  of  Moliere. 
In  this  case  the  quack  is  a  German,  speaking  only  a  bar- 
barous jargon,  but  he  speedily  cures  the  Justice,  on  con- 
dition of  receiving  the  hand  of  his  daughter.  "Did  he 
say  all  that  in  so  few  words?"  cries  Justice  Credulous, 
when  one  of  the  stranger's  utterances  is  explained  to  him. 
"  What  a  fine  language  it  is !" — just  as  M.  Jourdain  de- 
lightedly acknowledged  the  eloquence  of  la  langue  Turque, 
which  could  express  tant  de  choses  dans  un  sent  mot.  The 
Scheming  Lieutenant  still  keeps  its  ground  among  Sheri- 
dan's works,  bound  up  between  the  Eivals  and  the  School 
for  Scandal,  a  position  in  which  one  cannot  help  feeling 
it  must  be  much  astonished  to  find  itself. 

In  the  end  of  the  year  the  opera  of  the  Duenna  was 
also  produced  at  Covent  Garden.  The  praise  and  imme- 
diate appreciation  with  which  it  was  received  were  still 


ii.]  HIS  FIRST  DRAMATIC  WORKS.  59 

greater  than  those  that  hailed  the  Rivals.  "  The  run  of 
this  opera  has,  I  believe,  no  parallel  in  the  annals  of  the 
drama,"  says  Moore,  speaking  in  days  when  the  theatre 
had  other  rules  than  those  known  among  ourselves.  "  Six- 
ty-three nights  was  the  career  of  the  Beggar's  Opera  ;  but 
the  Duenna  was  acted  no  less  than  seventy-five  times  dur- 
ing the  season,"  and  the  enthusiasm  which  it  called  forth 
was  general.  It  was  pronounced  better  than  the  Beggar's 
Opera,  up  to  that  time  acknowledged  to  be  the  first  and 
finest  production  of  the  never  very  successful  school  of 
English  opera.  Opera  at  all  was  as  yet  an  exotic  in  Eng- 
land, and  the  public  still  resented  the  importation  of  Italian 
music  and  Italian  singers  to  give  it  utterance,  and  fondly 
clung  to  the  idea  of  being  able  to  produce  as  good  or  bet- 
ter at  home.  The  Duenna  was  a  joint  work,  in  which 
Sheridan  was  glad  to  associate  with  himself  his  father-in- 
law,  Linley,  whose  airs  to  the  songs,  which  were  plentifully 
introduced — and  which  gave  its  name  to  what  is  in  reality 
a  short  comedy  on  the  lines  of  Moliere,  interspersed  with 
songs,  and  not  an  opera  in  the  usual  sense  of  the  word  at 
all — were  much  commended  at  the  time.  The  little  lyrics 
which  are  put  indiscriminately  into  the  mouths  of  the  dif- 
ferent personages  are  often  extremely  pretty ;  but  few  peo- 
ple in  these  days  have  heard  them  sung,  though  lines  from 
the  verses  are  still  familiar  enough  to  our  ears  in  the  way 
of  quotation.  The  story  of  the  piece  belongs  to  the  same 
easy,  artificial  inspiration  which  dictated  the  trivial  plot  of 
St.  Patrick's  Day,  and  of  so  many  others.  It  is  "  mainly 
founded,"  says  Moore,  "  upon  an  incident  borrowed  from 
the  Country  Wife  of  Wycherley,"  but  it  seems  hardly  nec- 
essary to  seek  a  parent  for  so  banal  a  contrivance.  The 
father,  with  whom  we  are  all  so  familiar,  has  to  be  tricked 
out  of  his  daughter  by  one  of  the  monotonous  lovers  with 


GO  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

whom  we  arc  more  familiar  still;  but  instead  of  waiting 
till  her  gallant  shall  invent  a  plan  for  this  purpose,  the 
lady  cuts  the  knot  herself,  by  the  help  of  her  duenna,  who 
has  no  objection  to  marry  the  rich  Jew  whom  Louisa  ab- 
hors, and  who  remains  in  the  garb  of  her  young  mistress, 
while  the  latter  escapes  in  the  duenna's  hood  and  veil. 
The  Portuguese  Isaac  from  whom  the  lady  flies  is  a  crafty 
simpleton,  and  when  he  finds  the  old  duenna  waiting  for 
him  under  the  name  of  Louisa  (whom  her  father,  for  the 
convenience  of  the  plot,  has  vowed  never  to  see  till  she  is 
married)  he  accepts  her,  though  much  startled  by  her  ven- 
erable and  unlovely  appearance,  as  the  beautiful  creature 
who  has  been  promised  to  him,  with  only  the  rueful  re- 
flection to  himself,  "  How  blind  some  parents  are !"  and,  as 
she  explains  that  she  also  has  made  a  vow  never  to  accept 
a  husband  from  her  father's  hands,  carries  her  off,  as  she 
suggests,  with  much  simplicity  and  the  astute  reflection, 
"  If  I  take  her  at  her  word  I  secure  her  fortune  and  avoid 
making  any  settlement  in  return."  In  the  meantime  two 
pairs  of  interesting  lovers,  Louisa  and  her  Antonio,  her 
brother  Ferdinand  and  his  Clara,  are  wandering  about  in 
various  disguises,  with  a  few  quarrels  and  reconciliations, 
and  a  great  many  songs,  which  they  pause  to  sing  at  the 
most  inappropriate  moments,  after  the  fashion  of  opera. 
In  order  to  be  married — which  all  are  anxious  to  be — Isaac 
and  one  of  the  young  gallants  go  to  a  "  neighbouring  mon- 
astery," such  establishments  being  delightfully  handy  in 
Seville,  where  the  scene  is  laid ;  and  the  hot  Protestantism 
of  the  audience  is  delighted  by  an  ecclesiastical  interior,  in 
which  "  Father  Paul,  Father  Francis,  and  other  friars  are 
discovered  at  a  table  drinking,"  singing  convivial  songs, 
and  promising  to  remember  their  penitents  in  their  cups, 
which  will  do  quite  as  much  good  as  masses.     Father  Paul 


ii.]  HIS  FIRST  DRAMATIC  WORKS.  61 

is  the  supposed  ascetic  of  the  party,  and  comes  forward 
when  called  with  a  glass  of  wine  in  his  hand,  chiding  them 
for  having  disturbed  his  devotions.  The  three  couples  are 
then  married  by  this  worthy  functionary,  and  the  whole 
ends  with  a  scene  at  the  house  of  the  father,  when  the 
trick  is  revealed  to  him,  and,  amid  general  blessings  and 
forgiveness,  the  Jew  discovers  that  he  has  married  the  pen- 
niless duenna  instead  of  the  lady  with  a  fortune,  whom  he 
has  helped  to  deceive  himself  as  well  as  her  father.  The 
duenna,  who  has  been,  like  all  the  old  ladies  in  these  plays, 
the  subject  of  a  great  many  unmannerly  remarks — when 
an  old  woman  is  concerned  Sheridan's  fine  gentlemen  al- 
ways forget  their  manners — is  revealed  in  all  her  poverty 
and  ugliness  beside  the  pretty  young  ladies ;  and  Isaac's 
conceit  and  admiration  of  himself, "  a  sly  little  villain,  a 
cunning  dog,"  etc.,  are  unmercifully  laughed  at ;  while  the 
rest  of  the  party  make  up  matters  with  the  easily  mollified 
papa. 

Such  is  the  story.  There  is  very  little  character  attempt- 
ed, save  in  Isaac,  who  is  a  sort  of  rudimentary  sketch  of 
a  too  cunning  knave  or  artful  simpleton  caught  in  his  own 
toils ;  and  the  dialogue,  if  sometimes  clever  enough,  never 
for  a  moment  reaches  the  sparkle  of  the  Rivals.  "The 
wit  of  the  dialogue,"  Moore  says — using  that  clever  mist 
of  words  with  which  an  experienced  writer  hides  the  fact 
that  he  can  find  nothing  to  say  on  a  certain  subject — "  ex- 
cept in  one  or  two  instances,  is  of  that  amusing  kind  which 
lies  near  the  surface — which  is  produced  without  effort, 
and  may  be  enjoyed  without  wonder."  If  this  means  that 
there  is  nothing  at  all  wonderful  about  it,  it  is  no  doubt 
true  enough ;  though  there  are  one  or  two  phrases  which 
are  worth  preserving,  such  as  that  in  which  the  Jew  is  de- 
p3cribed  as  being  "like  the  blank  leaves  between  the  Old 


62  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

and  New  Testament,"  since  he  is  a  convert  of  recent  date 
and  no  very  certain  faith. 

It  was,  however,  the  music  which  made  the  piece  popu- 
lar, and  the  songs  which  Sheridan  wrote  for  Linley's  set- 
ting were  many  of  them  pretty,  and  all  neat  and  clever. 
Everyhody  knows  "  Had  I  a  heart  for  falsehood  framed," 
which  is  sung  by  the  walking  gentleman  of  the  piece,  a 
certain  Don  Carlos,  who  has  nothing  to  do  but  to  take 
care  of  Louisa  during  her  wanderings,  and  to  sing  some 
of  the  prettiest  songs.  Perhaps,  on  the  whole,  this  is  the 
best: 

41  Had  I  a  heart  for  falsehood  framed, 
I  ne'er  could  injure  you  ; 
For  though  your  tongue  no  promise  claim'd, 

Your  charms  would  make  me  true. 
To  you  no  soul  shall  bear  deceit, 

No  stranger  offer  wrong ; 
But  friends  in  all  the  aged  you'll  meet, 
And  lovers  in  the  young. 

"  But  when  they  learn  that  you  have  blest 

Another  with  your  heart, 
They'll  bid  aspiring  passion  cease 

And  act  a  brother's  part. 
Then,  lady,  dread  not  here  deceit, 

Nor  fear  to  suffer  wrong ; 
For  friends  in  all  the  aged  you'll  meet, 

And  lovers  in  the  young." 

The  part  of  Carlos  is  put  in,  with  Sheridan's  usual  indif- 
ference to  construction,  for  the  sake  of  the  music,  and  in 
order  to  employ  a  certain  tenor  who  was  a  favourite  with 
the  public,  there  being  no  possible  occasion  for  him,  so  far 
as  the  dramatic  action  is  concerned. 

This  is  what  Byron,  nearly  half  a  century  after,  called 
"  the  best  opera"  in  English,  and  which  was  lauded  to  the 


ii.]  HIS  FIRST  DRAMATIC  WORKS.  63 

skies  in  its  day.  The  Beggar's  Opera,  with  which  it  is 
constantly  compared,  has,  however,  much  outlived  it  in 
the  general  knowledge,  if  the  galvanic  and  forced  resurrec- 
tion given  by  an  occasional  performance  can  be  called  life. 
The  songs  are  sung  no  longer,  and  many  who  quote  Hues 
like  the  well-known  "Sure  such  a  pair  were  never  seen" 
are  in  most  cases  totally  unaware  where  they  come  from. 
Posterity,  which  has  so  thoroughly  carried  out  the  judg- 
ment of  contemporaries  in  respect  to  the  Rivals,  has  not 
extended  its  favour  to  the  Duenna.  Perhaps  the  attempt 
to  conjoin  spoken  dialogue  to  any  great  extent  with  music 
is  never  a  very  successful  attempt :  for  English  opera  does 
not  seem  to  last.  Its  success  is  momentary.  Musical  en- 
thusiasts care  little  for  the  "  words,"  and  not  even  so  much 
for  melody  as  might  be  desired ;  and  the  genuine  playgoer 
is  impatient  of  those  interruptions  to  the  action  of  a  piece 
which  has  any  pretence  at  dramatic  interest,  while  neither 
of  the  conjoint  arts  do  their  best  in  such  a  formal  copart- 
nery. Sheridan,  however,  spared  no  pains  to  make  the 
partnership  successful.  He  was  very  anxious  that  the 
composer  should  be  on  the  spot  and  secure  that  his  com- 
positions were  done  full  justice  to.  "  Harris  is  extrava- 
gantly sanguine  of  its  success  as  to  plot  and  dialogue,"  he 
writes ;  "  they  will  exert  themselves  to  the  utmost  in  the 
scenery,  etc. ;  but  I  never  saw  any  one  so  disconcerted  as 
he  was  at  the  idea  of  there  being  no  one  to  put  them  in 
the  right  way  as  to  music."  "Dearest  father,"  adds  Mrs. 
Sheridan,  "  I  shall  have  no  spirits  or  hopes  of  the  opera 
unless  we  see  you."  The  young  dramatist,  however,  had 
his  ideas  as  to  the  music  as  well  as  the  literary  portion  of 
the  piece,  and  did  not  submit  himself  blindly  to  his  father- 
in-law's  experience.  "  The  first,"  he  says,  "  I  should  wish 
to  be  a  pert,  sprightly  air,  for  though  some  of  the  words 


G4  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

mayn't  seem  suited  to  it,  I  should  mention  that  they  are 
neither  of  them  in  earnest  in  what  they  say :  Leoni  (Car- 
los) takes  it  up  seriously,  and  I  want  him  to  show  advan- 
tageously in  the  six  lines  beginning,  'Gentle  Maid.'  I 
should  tell  you  that  he  sings  nothing  well  but  in  a  plain- 
tive or  pastoral  style,  and  his  voice  is  such  as  appears  to  me 
always  to  be  hurt  by  much  accompaniment.  I  have  ob- 
served, too,  that  he  never  gets  so  much  applause  as  when 
he  makes  a  cadence.  Therefore  my  idea  is  that  he  should 
make  a  flourish  at  '  Shall  I  grieve  you.'  "  These  instruc- 
tions show  how  warmly  Sheridan  at  this  period  of  life 
interested  himself  in  every  detail  of  his  theatrical  work. 
Linley,  it  is  said,  had  the  good  sense  to  follow  these  direc- 
tions implicitly. 

The  success  of  the  Duenna  at  Covent  Garden  put  Gar- 
rick  and  his  company  at  the  rival  theatre  on  their  mettle ; 
and  it  was  wittily  said  that  "  the  old  woman  would  be  the 
death  of  the  old  man."  Garrick  chose  the  moment  when 
her  son  was  proving  so  dangerous  a  rival  to  him  to  resusci- 
tate Mrs.  Sheridan's  play  called  the  Discovery,  in  which  he 
himself  played  the  chief  part — a  proceeding  which  does 
not  look  very  friendly ;  and  as  Thomas  Sheridan  had  been 
put  forth  by  his  enemies  as  the  great  actor's  rival,  it  might 
well  be  that  there  was  no  very  kind  feeling  between  them. 
But  the  next  chapter  in  young  Sheridan's  life  shows  Gar- 
rick in  so  benevolent  a  light  that  it  is  evident  his  animos- 
ity to  the  father,  if  it  existed,  had  no  influence  on  his  con- 
duct to  the  son.  Garrick  was  now  very  near  the  close  of 
his  career ;  and  when  it  was  understood  that  he  meant,  not 
only  to  retire  from  the  stage,  but  to  resign  his  connection 
with  the  theatre  altogether,  a  great  commotion  arose  in 
the  theatrical  world.  These  were  the  days  of  patents, 
when  the  two  great  theatres  held  a  sort  of  monopoly,  and 


ii.]  HIS  FIRST  DRAMATIC  WORKS.  65 

were  safe  from  all  rivalship  except  that  of  each  other.  It 
was  at  the  end  of  the  year  1775  that  Garrick's  intention 
of  "  selling  his  moiety  of  the  patent  of  Drury  Lane  Thea- 
tre "  became  known  ;  and  Richard  Sheridan  was  then  in 
the  early  flush  of  his  success,  crowding  the  rival  theatre, 
and  promising  a  great  succession  of  brilliant  work  to  come. 
But  it  could  scarcely  be  supposed  that  a  young  man  just 
emerging  out  of  obscurity — rich,  indeed,  in  his  first  gains, 
and  no  doubt  seeing  before  him  a  great  future,  but  yet 
absolutely  destitute  of  capital — could  have  been  audacious 
enough,  without  some  special  encouragement,  to  think  of 
acquiring  this  great  but  precarious  property,  and  launch- 
ing himself  upon  such  a  venture.  How  he  came  to  think 
of  it  we  are  left  uninformed,  but  the  first  whisper  of  the 
chance  seems  to  have  inflamed  his  mind ;  and  Garrick, 
whether  or  not  he  actually  helped  him  with  money,  as 
some  say,  was  at  all  events  favourable  to  him  from  the 
beginning  of  the  negotiations.  He  had  promised  that  the 
refusal  should  first  be  offered  to  Colman ;  but  when  Col- 
man,  as  he  expected,  declined,  it  was  the  penniless  young 
dramatist  whom  of  all  competitors  the  old  actor  preferred. 
Sheridan  had  a  certain  amount  of  backing,  though  not 
enough,  as  far  as  would  appear,  to  lessen  the  extraordi- 
nary daring  of  the  venture — his  father-in-law,  Linley,  who 
it  is  to  be  supposed  had  in  his  long  career  laid  up  some 
money,  taking  part  in  the  speculation  along  with  a  certain 
Dr.  Ford;  but  both  in  subordination  to  the  young  man 
who  had  no  money  at  all.  Here  are  Sheridan's  explana- 
tions of  the  matter  addressed  to  his  father-in-law : 

"According  to  his  (Garrick's)  demand,  the  whole   is   valued  at 
£70,000.     He  appears  very  shy  of  letting  his  books  be  looked  into 
as  the  test  of  the  profits  on  this  sum,  but  says  it  must  be  in  its  na- 
ture a  purchase  on  speculation.     However,  he  had  promised  me  a 
4 


66  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

rough  estimate  of  his  own  of  the  entire  receipts  for  the  last  seven 
years.  But  after  all  it  must  certainly  be  a  purchase  on  speculation 
without  money's  worth  having  been  made  out.  One  point  he  solemn- 
ly avers,  which  is  that  he  will  never  part  with  it  under  the  price 
above-mentioned.  This  is  all  I  can  say  on  the  subject  until  Wednes- 
day, though  I  can't  help  adding  that  I  think  we  might  safely  give 
£5000  more  on  this  purchase  than  richer  people.  The  whole  valued 
at  £70,000,  the  annual  interest  is  £3500 ;  while  this  is  cleared  the 
proprietors  are  safe.  But  I  think  it  must  be  infernal  management 
indeed  that  does  not  double  it." 

A  few  days  later  the  matter  assumes  a  definite  shape : 

"  Garrick  was  extremely  explicit,  and  in  short  we  came  to  a  final 
resolution ;  so  that  if  the  necessary  matters  are  made  out  to  all  our 
satisfactions,  we  may  sign  and  seal  a  previous  engagement  within  a 
fortnight. 

"  I  meet  him  again  to-morrow  evening,  when  we  are  to  name  a  day 
for  a  conveyancer  on  our  side  to  meet  his  solicitor,  Wallace.  I  have 
pitched  on  a  Mr.  Phipps,  at  the  recommendation  and  by  the  advice  of 
Dr.  Ford.  The  three  first  steps  to  be  taken  are  these — our  lawyer 
is  to  look  into  the  titles,  tenures,  etc.,  of  the  house  and  adjoining 
estate,  the  extent  and  limitations  of  the  patent,  etc.;  we  shall  then 
employ  a  builder  (I  think  Mr.  Collins)  to  survey  the  state  and  repair 
in  which  the  whole  premises  are,  to  which  Mr.  G.  entirely  consents ; 
Mr.  G.  will  then  give  us  a  fair  and  attested  estimate  from  his  books 
of  what  the  profits  have  been,  at  an  average,  for  these  last  seven 
years.  This  he  has  shown  me  in  rough,  and,  valuing  the  property  at 
£*70,000,  the  interest  has  exceeded  ten  per  cent. 

"We  should  after  this  certainly  make  an  interest  to  get  the  King's 
promise  that  while  the  theatre  is  well  conducted,  etc.,  he  will  grant 
no  patent  for  a  third,  though  G.  seems  confident  he  never  will.  If 
there  is  any  truth  in  professions  and  appearances,  G.  seems  likely  al- 
ways to  continue  our  friend  and  to  give  every  assistance  in  his  power. 

"  The  method  of  our  sharing  the  purchase,  I  should  think,  may 
be  thus— Ewart  to  take  £10,000,  you  £10,000,  and  I  £10,  000.  Dr. 
Ford  agrees  with  the  greatest  pleasure  to  embark  the  other  £5000 ; 
and,  if  you  do  not  choose  to  venture  so  much,  will,  I  daresay,  share  it 
with  you.     Ewart  is  preparing  his  money,  and  I  have  a  certainty  of 


ii.]  HIS  FIRST  DRAMATIC  WORKS.  07 

my  part.  We  shall  have  a  very  useful  ally  in  Dr.  Ford,  and  my  fa- 
ther offers  his  services  on  our  own  terms.  We  cannot  unite  Gar- 
rick  to  our  interests  too  firmly;  and  I  am  convinced  his  influence 
will  bring  Leasy  to  our  terms,  if  he  should  be  ill-advised  enough  to 
desire  to  interfere  in  what  he  is  totally  unqualified  for." 

Ewart  was  the  ever-faithful  friend  to  whose  house  in 
London  Sheridan  had  taken  Miss  Linley,  whose  son  had 
been  his  second  in  the  affair  with  Captain  Matthews — a 
man  upon  whose  support  the  Sheridan  family  could  always 
rely.  But  the  source  from  which  young  Richard  himself 
got  the  money  for  his  own  share  remains  a  mystery,  of 
wThieh  no  one  has  yet  found  the  solution.  "  Not  even  to 
Mr.  Liuley,"  says  Moore,  "  while  entering  into  all  other 
details,  does  he  hint  at  the  fountain-head  from  which  the 
supply  is  to  come,"  and  he  adds  a  few  somewhat  common- 
place reflections  as  to  the  manner  in. which  all  Sheridan's 
successes  had  as  yet  been  obtained : 

"There  was,  indeed,  something  mysterious  and  miraculous  about 
all  his  acquisitions,  whether  in  love,  in  learning,  in  wit,  or  in  wealth. 
How  or  when  his  stock  of  knowledge  was  laid  in  nobody  knew:  it 
was  as  much  a  matter  of  marvel  to  those  who  never  saw  him  read  as 
the  mode  of  existence  of  the  chameleon  has  been  to  those  who  fan- 
cied it  never  eat.  His  advances  in  the  heart  of  his  mistress  were,  as 
we  have  seen,  equally  trackless  and  inaudible,  and  his  triumph  was 
the  first  that  even  his  rivals  knew  of  his  love.  In  like  manner  the 
productions  of  his  wit  took  the  world  by  surprise,  being  perfected  in 
secret  till  ready  for  display,  and  then  seeming  to  break  from  under 
the  cloud  of  his  indolence  in  full  maturity  of  splendour.  His  finan- 
cial resources  had  no  less  an  air  of  magic  about  them  ;  and  the  mode 
by  which  he  conjured  up  at  this  time  the  money  for  his  first  purchase 
into  the  theatre  remains,  as  far  as  I  can  learn,  still  a  mystery." 

These  remarks  are  somewhat  foolish,  to  say  the  least, 
since  the  mystery  attending  the  sudden   successes   of  a 


68  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

young  man  of  genius  are  sufficiently  explained  as  soon  as 
his  possession  of  that  incommunicable  quality  has  once 
been  established;  and  the  triumph  of  a  brilliant  youth, 
whose  fascinating  talk  and  social  attractions  were  one  of 
the  features  of  his  age,  over  his  commonplace  rivals  in  the 
heart  of  a  susceptible  girl  does  not  even  require  genius  to 
explain  it.  But  neither  genius  itself  nor  all  the  personal 
fascination  in  the  world  can,  alas !  produce,  when  it  is 
wanted,  ten  thousand  pounds.  The  anonymous  author  of 
Sheridan  and  his  Times  asserts  confidently  that  Garrick 
himself  advanced  the  money,  having  conceived  a  great 
friendship  for  Sheridan,  and  formed  a  strong  opinion  as 
to  his  capacity  to  increase  the  reputation  and  success  of 
the  theatre.  Of  this  statement,  however,  no  proof  is  of- 
fered, and  Moore  evidently  gives  no  credence  to  such  a 
suggestion,  though  he  notices  that  it  had  been  made.  The 
money  was  procured  by  some  friendly  help,  no  doubt. 
There  were,  as  has  been  said,  only  the  two  great  theatres 
in  these  days,  none  of  the  later  crop  having  as  yet  sprung 
up,  and  each  being  under  the  protection  of  a  patent ;  the 
speculation,  therefore,  was  not  so  hazardous  as  it  has  proved 
to  be  since.  It  is,  however,  besides  the  mystery  about  the 
money,  a  most  curious  transformation  to  see  the  young 
idler,  lover,  and  man  of  pleasure  suddenly  placed  at  the 
head  of  such  an  undertaking,  with  so  much  responsibility 
upon  his  shoulders,  and — accustomed  only  to  the  shiftless 
and  hand-to-mouth  living  of  extravagant  poverty — become 
at  once  the  administrator  of  a  considerable  revenue  and 
the  head  of  a  little  community  dependent  upon  him.  He 
had  done  nothing  all  his  life  except,  in  a  fit  of  inspiration 
of  very  recent  date,  produce  a  couple  of  plays.  But  it 
does  not  seem  that  any  doubt  of  his  powers  crossed  his 
mind  or  that  of  any  of  his  associates.    "  Do  not  flag  when 


ii.]  HIS  FIRST  DRAMATIC  WORKS.  69 

we  come  to  the  point,"  he  says  to  his  father-in-law ;  "  I'll 
answer  for  it  we  shall  see  many  golden  campaigns." 

The  stir  and  quickening  of  new  energy  is  apparent  in 
all  he  writes.  The  circumstances  were  such  as  might  well 
quicken  the  steadiest  pulse,  for  not  only  was  he  likely  to 
lay  a  foundation  of  fortune  for  himself  (and  his  first  child 
had  lately  been  born — "  a  very  magnificent  fellow  "),  but 
his  nearest  connexions  on  both  sides  were  involved,  and 
likely  to  owe  additional  comfort  and  importance  to  the 
young  prodigal  whose  own  father  had  disowned  him,  and 
his  wife's  received  him  with  the  greatest  reluctance — a  re- 
flection which  could  not  but  be  sweet.  With  such  hopes 
in  his  mind,  the  sobriety  and  composure  with  which  he 
writes  are  astonishing : 

"  Leasy  is  utterly  unequal  to  any  department  in  the  theatre.  He 
has  an  opinion  of  me,  and  is  very  willing  to  let  the  whole  burden 
and  ostensibility  be  taken  off  his  shoulders.  But  I  certainly  should 
not  give  up  my  time  and  labour  (for  his  superior  advantage,  having 
so  much  greater  a  share)  without  some  conclusive  advantage.  Yet 
I  should  by  no  means  make  the  demand  till  I  had  shown  myself 
equal  to  the  task.  My  father  purposes  to  be  with  us  but  one  year : 
and  that  only  to  give  us  what  advantage  he  can  from  his  experience. 
He  certainly  must  be  paid  for  his  trouble,  and  so  certainly  must  you. 
You  have  experience  and  character  equal  to  the  line  you  would  un- 
dertake, and  it  never  can  enter  into  anybody's  head  that  you  were  to 
give  your  time,  or  any  part  of  3Tour  attention,  gratis  because  you  had 
a  share  in  the  theatre.  I  have  spoken  on  the  subject  both  to  Gar- 
rick  and  Leasy,  and  you  will  find  no  demur  on  any  side  to  your  gain- 
ing a  certain  income  from  the  theatre,  greater,  I  think,  than  you 
could  make  out  of  it,  and  in  this  the  theatre  would  be  acting  only 
for  its  own  advantage." 

The  other  shareholder,  who  held  the  half  of  the  prop- 
erty— while  Sheridan,  Linley,  and  Ford  divided  the  other 
half  between  them — was  a  Mr.  Lacy ;  and  there  seems  a 


70  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

charming  possibility  of  some  reminiscence  of  the  brogue, 
though  Sheridan  probably  had  never  been  touched  by  it 
in  his  own  person,  having  left  Ireland  as  a  child — in  the 
misspelling  of  the  name.  It  is  impossible  not  to  sympa- 
thise with  him  in  the  delightful  consciousness  of  having 
proved  the  futility  of  all  objections,  and  become  the  aid 
and  hope,  instead  of  the  detriment  and  burden,  of  both 
families,  which  must  have  sweetened  his  own  brilliant 
prospects.  His  father  evidently  was  now  fully  reconciled 
and  sympathetic,  proud  of  his  son,  and  disposed  (though 
not  without  a  consideration)  to  give  him  the  benefit  of  his 
experience  and  advice ;  and  Linley  was  to  have  the  chance 
of  an  income  from  the  theatre  "greater  than  he  could 
make  out  of  it."  With  what  sweet  moisture  the  eyes  of 
the  silenced  Diva  at  home,  the  St.  Cecilia  whose  mouth 
her  young  husband's  adoring  pride  had  stopped,  must 
have  glistened  to  think  that  her  father,  who  had  done  all 
he  could  to  keep  her  Sheridan  at  arm's  length,  was  now 
to  have  his  fortune  made  by  that  injured  and  unappre- 
ciated hero !  She  had  other  causes  for  happiness  and 
glory.  "Your  grandson,"  Sheridan  adds,  in  the  same 
letter  to  Linley,  "  astonishes  everybody  by  his  vivacity,  his 
talents  for  music  and  poetry,  and  the  most  perfect  integ- 
rity of  mind."  Everything  was  now  brilliant  and  hopeful 
about  the  young  pair.  The  only  drawback  was  the  un- 
easiness of  Sheridan's  position,  until  the  business  should 
be  finally  settled,  between  the  two  theatres.  "  My  confi- 
dential connexion  with  the  other  house,"  he  says,  "is  pe- 
culiarly distressing  till  I  can  with  prudence  reveal  my 
situation,  and  such  a  treaty,  however  prudently  managed, 
cannot  long  be  kept  secret." 

The  matter  was  settled  early  in  the  year  1776,  Sheridan 
being  then  twenty -five.      Before  the  end    of  the  year 


ii.]  HIS  FIRST  DRAMATIC  WORKS.  11 

troubles  arose  with  Lacy,  and  it  would  seem  that  Sheridan 
took  the  strong  step  of  retiring  from  the  managership  and 
carrying  the  actors  along  with  him,  leaving  the  other  per- 
plexed and  feeble  proprietor  to  do  the  best  he  could  with 
such  materials  as  he  could  pick  up.  All  quarrels,  how- 
ever, were  soon  made  up,  and  affairs  proceeded  amicably 
for  some  time ;  but  Sheridan  eventually  bought  Lacy  out 
at  a  further  expenditure  of  £45,000,  partly  obtained,  it 
would  appear,  from  Garrick,  partly  by  other  means.  The 
narrative  is  not  very  clear,  nor  is  it  very  important  to 
know  what  squabbles  might  convulse  the  theatre,  or  how 
the  friends  of  Lacy  might  characterise  the  "  conceited 
young  man,"  who  showed  no  inclination  to  consult  a  col- 
league of  so  different  a  calibre  from  himself.  But  it 
seems  to  be  agreed  on  all  sides  that  the  beginning  of 
Sheridan's  reign  at  Drury  was  not  very  prosperous. 
Though  he  had  shown  so  much  energy  in  his  financial 
arrangements  at  the  beginning,  it  was  not  easy  to  get  over 
the  habits  of  all  his  previous  life,  and  work  with  the  steadi- 
ness and  regularity  of  a  man  of  business,  as  was  needful. 
There  was  an  interval  of  dulness  which  did  not  carry  out 
the  hopes  very  naturally  formed  when  the  young  dramatist 
who  had  twice  filled  the  rival  theatre  with  eager  crowds 
and  applause  came  to  the  head  of  affairs.  Garrick,  who 
had  so  long  been  its  chief  attraction,  was  gone ;  and  it  was 
a  new  group  of  actors,  unfamiliar  to  him,  with  whom  the 
new  manager  had  to  do.  He  remodelled  for  them  a  play 
of  Vanbrugh's,  which  he  called  a  Trip  to  Scarborough,  but 
which,  notwithstanding  all  he  did  to  it,  remained  still  the 
production  of  an  earlier  age,  wanting  in  the  refinement 
and  comparative  purity  which  Sheridan  himself  had 
already  done  so  much  to  make  popular.  The  Miss  Hoy- 
den, the  rustic  lady  whom  Lord  Foppington  is  destined  to 


72  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap.  ii. 

marry,  but  does  not,  is  a  creature  of  the  species  of  Tony 
Lumpkin,  though  infinitely  less  clever  and  shrewd  than 
that  delightful  lout,  and  has  no  sort  of  kindred  with  the 
pretty  gentlewoman  of  Sheridan's  natural  period.  And 
the  public  were  not  specially  attracted  by  this  rechauffe. 
In  fact,  after  all  the  excitement  and  wonderful  novelty  of 
this  astonishing  launch  into  life,  the  reaction  was  great 
and  discouraging.  Old  stock  pieces  of  a  repertory  of 
which  Garrick  had  been  the  soul  —  new  contrivances  of 
pantomime  "  expected  to  draw  all  the  human  race  to 
Drury,"  and  which  were  rendered  absolutely  necessary, 
"  on  account  of  a  marvellous  preparation  of  the  kind  which 
is  making  at  Covent  Garden"  —  must  have  fallen  rather 
flat  both  upon  the  mind  of  the  manager,  still  new  and  in- 
experienced in  his  office,  and  of  the  public,  which  no  doubt 
at  the  hands  of  the  author  of  the  Rivals,  and  with  the 
songs  of  the  Duenna  still  tingling  in  its  ears,  expected 
great  things.  But  this  pause  was  only  the  reculer  pour 
mieux  sauter  which  precedes  a  great  effort ;  for  early  in 
the  next  year  Sheridan  rose  to  the  full  height  of  his 
genius,  and  the  School  for  Scandal  blazed  forth,  a  -great 
Jupiter  among  the  minor  starlights  of  the  drama,  throw- 
ing the  rival  house  and  all  its  preparations  altogether  into 
the  shade. 


CHAPTER  III. 


It  was  clear  that  a  great  effort  was  required  for  the  ad- 
vantage of  Drury  Lane,  to  make  up  for  the  blow  of  Gar- 
rick's  withdrawal,  and  to  justify  the  hopes  founded  upon 
the  new  management;  and  Mr.  Lacy  and  the  public  had 
both  reason  to  wonder  that  the  head  which  had  filled 
Covent  Garden  from  pit  to  gallery  should  do  nothing  for 
the  house  in  which  all  his  hopes  of  fortune  were  involved. 
No  doubt  the  cares  of  management  and  administration 
were  heavy,  and  the  previous  training  of  Sheridan  had 
not  been  such  as  to  qualify  him  for  continuous  labour  of 
any  kind ;  but  at  the  same  time  it  was  not  unnatural  that 
his  partners  in  the  undertaking  should  have  grumbled  at 
the  long  interval  which  elapsed  before  he  entered  the  lists 
in  his  own  person.  It  was  May,  1777,  more  than  a  year 
after  his  entry  upon  the  proprietorship  of  Drury  Lane, 
when  the  School  for  Scandal  was  produced,  and  then  it 
was  hurried  into  the  hands  of  the  performers  piecemeal 
before  it  was  finished,  the  last  act  finding  its  way  to  the 
theatre  five  days  before  the  final  production.  The  manu- 
script, Moore  informs  us,  was  issued  forth  in  shreds  and 
patches,  there  being  but  "one  rough  draft  of  the  last  five 
scenes,  scribbled  upon  detached  pieces  of  paper ;  while  of 
all  the  preceding  acts  there  are  numerous  transcripts,  scat- 
4* 


U  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

tered  promiscuously  through  six  or  seven  books,  with  new 
interlineations  and  memoranda  to  each.  On  the  last  leaf 
of  all,  which  exists,  just  as  we  may  suppose  it  to  have 
been  despatched  by  him  to  the  copyist,"  Moore  adds, 
"  there  is  the  following  curious  specimen  of  a  doxology, 
written  hastily,  in  the  handwriting  of  the  respective  par- 
ties, at  the  bottom  : 

'  Finished  at  last ;  thank  God  ! 

'  R.  B.  Sheridan. 
'Amen ! 

1 W.  Hawkins.'  " 

The  bearer  of  the  latter  name  was  the  prompter,  and 
there  is  a  whole  history  of  hurry  and  anxiety  and  con- 
fusion, a  company  disorganised,  and  an  unhappy  func- 
tionary at  the  end  of  his  powers,  in  this  devout  exclama- 
tion. It  is  bad  enough  to  keep  the  press  waiting,  but  a 
dozen  or  so  of  actors  arrested  in  their  study,  and  the 
whole  business  of  the  theatre  depending  upon  the  time  at 
which  a  man  of  fashion  got  home  from  an  entertainment, 
or  saw  his  guests  depart  in  the  grey  of  the  morning,  is 
chaos  indeed.  "  We  have  heard  him  say,"  writes  a  gos- 
siping commentator,  "  that  he  had  in  those  early  days 
stolen  from  his  bed  at  sunrise  to  prosecute  his  literary 
labours,  or  after  midnight,  when  his  visitors  had  departed, 
flown  to  his  desk,  and,  at  the  cost  of  a  bottle  of  port,  sat 
down  to  resume  the  work  which  the  previous  morning  in 
its  early  rising  had  dawned  upon."  The  highly  polished 
diction  of  the  School  for  Scandal,  and  the  high-pressure 
of  its  keen  and  trenchant  wit,  does  not  look  much  like 
the  excited  work  of  the  small  hours  inspired  by  port ;  but 
a  man  who  is  fully  launched  in  the  tide  of  society,  and 
sought  on  all  hands  to  give  brilliancy  to  the  parties  of  his 
patrons,  must  needs  "  steal  a  few  hours  from  the  night." 


in.]  THE  "SCHOOL  FOR  SCANDAL."  75 

"  It  was  the  fate  of  Sheridan  through  life,"  Moore  says, 
"  and  in  a  great  degree  his  policy,  to  gain  credit  for  ex- 
cessive indolence  and  carelessness."  It  seems  very  likely 
that  he  has  here  hit  the  mark,  and  furnished  an  explana- 
tion for  many  of  the  apparently  headlong  feats  of  compo- 
sition by  which  many  authors  are  believed  to  have  dis- 
tinguished themselves.  There  is  no  policy  which  tells  bet- 
ter. It  is  not  merely  an  excuse  for  minor  faults,  but  an  ex- 
traordinary enhancement,  in  the  eyes  of  the  uninstructed, 
of  merit  of  all  kinds.  To  be  able  to  dash  off  in  a  mo- 
ment, at  a  sitting,  what  would  take  the  laborious  plodder 
a  week's  work,  is  a  kind  of  triumph  which  is  delightful 
both  to  the  performer  and  spectator;  and  many  besides 
Sheridan  have  found  it  a  matter  of  policy  to  keep  up  such 
a  character.  The  anonymous  biographer  whom  we  have 
already  quoted  is  very  angry  with  Moore  for  attempting 
to  show  that  Sheridan  did  not  dash  off  his  best  work  in 
this  reckless  way,  but  studied  every  combination,  and 
sharpened  his  sword  by  repeated  trials  of  its  edge  and 
temper.  The  scientific  critic  has  always  scorned  what  the 
multitude  admire,  and  the  fashion  of  our  own  age  has  so 
far  changed,  that  to  show  an  elaborate  process  of  work- 
manship for  any  piece  of  literary  production,  and  if  pos- 
sible to  trace  its  lineage  to  previous  works  and  well-de- 
fined impulses  and  influences,  is  now  the  favourite  object 
of  the  biographer  and  commentator.  We  confess  a  leaning 
to  the  primitive  method,  and  a  preference  for  the  Minerva 
springing  full -armed  from  the  brain  of  Jove  to  the  god- 
desses more  gradually  developed  of  scientific  investiga- 
tion. 

But  Moore's  account  of  the  growth  of  Sheridan's  pow- 
ers, and  of  the  steps  by  which  he  ascended  to  the  mastery 
of  his  art,  are  interesting  and  instructive.      The  Rivals 


76  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

sprang  into  being  without  much  thought,  with  that  in- 
stinctive and  unerring  perception  of  the  right  points  to 
recollect  and  record,  which  makes  observation  the  uncon- 
scious instrument  of  genius,  and  is  so  immensely  and  in- 
describably different  from  mere  imitation.  But  the  School 
for  Scandal — a  more  elaborate  performance  in  every  way 
— required  a  different  handling.  It  seems  to  have  floated 
in  the  writer's  mind  from  the  moment  when  he  discovered 
his  own  powers,  stimulating  his  invention  and  his  memory 
at  once,  and  prompting  half  a  dozen  beginnings  before  the 
right  path  was  discovered.  Now  it  is  one  story,  now  an- 
other, that  attracts  his  fancy.  He  will  enlist  those  gossip- 
ing circles  which  he  feels  by  instinct  to  be  so  serviceable 
for  the  stage,  to  serve  the  purpose  of  a  scheming  woman 
and  separate  a  pair  of  lovers.  Anon,  departing  from  that 
idea,  he  will  employ  them  to  bring  about  the  catastrophe  of 
a  loveless  marriage,  in  which  an  old  husband  and  a  young 
wife,  the  very  commonplaces  of  comedy,  shall  take  a  new 
and  original  development.  Two  distinct  stories  rise  in 
his  mind,  like  two  butterflies  circling  about  each  other, 
keeping  him  for  a  long  time  undecided  whieh  is  the  best 
for  his  purpose.  The  first  plot  is  one  whijh  the  spec- 
tator has  now  a  little  difficulty  in  tracing  through  the  brill- 
iant scenes  which  were  originally  intended  to  carry  it  out, 
though  it  is  distinctly  stated  in  the  first  scene,  between 
Lady  Sneerwell  and  Snake,  which  still  opens  the  comedy. 
As  it  now  stands  this  intimation  of  her  ladyship's  purpose 
is  far  too  important  for  anything  that  follows,  and  is  apt 
to  mystify  the  spectator,  who  finds  little  in  the  after  scenes 
to  justify  it — a  confusion  at  once  explained  when  we  are 
made  aware  that  this  was  the  original  motif  of  the  entire 
piece,  the  object  of  which  was  to  separate,  not  Charles  Sur- 
face, but  a  sentimental  hero  called  Clarimont,  Florival,  and 


iii.]  THE  "  SCHOOL  FOR  SCANDAL."  77 

other  pastoral  names,  from  the  Maria  whom  he  loves,  and 
who  is  the  ward,  niece,  or  even  step -daughter  of  Lady 
Sneerwell,  a  beautiful  widow  and  leader  of  scandal,  who 
loves  him.  But  while  the  author  is  playing  with  this  plot, 
and  designing  fragmentary  scenes  in  which  to  carry  it  out, 
the  other  is  tugging  at  his  fancy  —  an  entirely  distinct 
idea,  with  a  group  of  new  and  individual  characters:  the 
old  man  and  his  wife,  the  two  contrasted  brothers,  one  of 
whom  is  to  have  the  reputation  of  being  her  lover,  while 
the  other  is  the  real  villain.  At  first  there  is  no  connection 
whatever  between  the  two.  The  School  for  Scandal  prop- 
er is  first  tried.  Here  would  seem  to  be  the  first  suggest- 
ions of  it,  no  doubt  noted  down  at  a  venture  for  future  use 
without  any  very  definite  intention,  perhaps  after  a  morn- 
ing's stroll  through  the  crowd  which  surrounded  the  waters 
of  the  Bath  with  so  many  bitternesses.  There  are  here, 
the  reader  will  perceive,  no  indications  of  character,  or  even 
names,  to  serve  as  symbols  for  the  Crabtrees  and  Candours 
to  come : 

"  The  Slanderer.     A  Pump-room  Scene. 

"  Friendly  caution  to  the  newspapers. 

"  It  is  whispered — 

"She  is  a  constant  attendant  at  church,  and  very  frequently  takes 
Dr.  M'Brawn  home  with  her. 

"  Mr.  Worthy  is  very  good  to  the  girl :  for  my  part,  I  dare  swear 
he  has  no  ill  intention. 

"  What !  Major  Wesley's  Miss  Montague  ? 

"  Lud,  ma'am  !  the  match  is  certainly  broke.  No  creature  knows 
the  cause :  some  say  a  flaw  in  the  lady's  character,  and  others  in  the 
gentleman's  fortune. 

"  To  be  sure,  they  do  say — 

"  I  hate  to  repeat  what  I  hear — 

"  She  was  inclined  to  be  a  little  too  plump  before  they  went — 

"  The  most  intrepid  blush.  I've  known  her  complexion  stand  fire 
for  an  hour  together." 


78  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

Whether  these  jottings  suggested  the  design,  or  were 
merely  seized  upon  by  that  faculty  of  appropriating  "  son 
bien  ou  il  le  trouve,"  which  is  one  of  the  privileges  of 
genius,  it  is  impossible  to  tell ;  but  it  will  be  seen  that  the 
germ  of  all  the  highly-wrought  and  polished  scenes  of  the 
scandalous  college  is  in  them.  The  first  use  to  which  they 
were  put  is  soon  visible  in  the  scene  between  Lady  Sneer- 
well  and  Snake  (called  Spatter  in  the  original)  which 
opened  the  uncompleted  play,  and  still  stands,  though  with 
much  less  significance,  at  the  beginning  of  the  actual  one. 
In  this  sketch  Crabtree  and  Sir  Benjamin  Backbite  ap- 
pear as  parties  to  the  intrigue,  the  latter  being  the  lover 
of  Maria,  and  intended  to  embroil  her  with  Clarimont,  who 
is  no  gallant  rake,  like  his  prototype  in  the  existing  drama, 
but  a  piece  of  perfection,  highly  superior  to  the  gossip — 
"  one  of  your  moral  fellows  .  .  .  who  has  too  much  good- 
nature to  say  a  witty  thing  himself,  and  is  too  ill-natured 
to  permit  it  in  others,"  and  who  is  as  dull  as  virtue  of  this 
abstract  type  is  usually  represented  on  the  stage.  To  show 
the  difference  in  the  workmanship,  we  may  quote  the  only 
portion  of  the  old  sketch  which  is  identical  in  meaning 
with  the  perfected  one.  Lady  Sneerwell  and  Spatter  are, 
as  in  the  first  version,  "  discovered"  when  the  curtain  rises : 

"  Lady  S.  The  paragraphs,  you  say,  were  all  inserted  ? 

"  Spat.  They  were,  madam. 

"  Lady  S.  Did  you  circulate  the  report  of  Lady  Brittle's  intrigue 
with  Captain  Boastall  ? 

"  Spat.  Madam,  by  this  time  Lady  Brittle  is  the  talk  of  half  the 
town :  and  in  a  week  will  be  treated  as  a  demirep. 

"  Lady  S.  What  have  you  done  as  to  the  innuendo  of  Miss  Nice- 
ly's  fondness  for  her  own  footman  ? 

"  Spat.  'Tis  in  a  fair  train,  ma'am.  I  told  it  to  my  hair-dresser ; 
he  courts  a  milliner's  girl  in  Pall  Mall,  whose  mistress  has  a  first 
cousin  who  is  waiting-woman  to  Lady  Clackitt.     I  think  in  about 


I1 


in.]  THE  "SCHOOL  FOR  SCANDAL."  79 

fourteen  hours  it  must  reach  Lady  Clackitt,  and  then,  you  know,  the 
business  is  done. 

"  Lady  S.  But  is  that  sufficient,  do  you  think  ? 

"  Spat.  Oh  Lud,  ma'am !  I'll  undertake  to  ruin  the  character  of 
the  primmest  prude  in  London  with  half  as  much.  Ha,  ha !  Did 
your  ladyship  never  hear  how  poor  Miss  Shepherd  lost  her  lover  and 
her  character  last  summer  at  Scarborough  ?     This  was  the  whole  of 

it.     One  evening  at  Lady 'a  the  conversation  happened  to  turn 

on  the  difficulty  of  feeding  Nova  Scotia  sheep  in  England — " 

The  reader  will  recollect  the  story  about  the  sheep, 
which  is  produced  at  a  later  period  in  the  scene,  under 
a  different  name  in  the  actual  version,  as  are  Miss  Nicely 
and  her  footman.  To  show,  however,  the  improvement  of 
the  artist's  taste,  we  will  place  beside  the  less  perfect  es- 
say we  have  just  quoted  the  scene  as  it  stands: 

"Lady  Sneer.  The  paragraphs,  you  say,  Mr.  Snake,  were  all  in- 
serted ? 

"  S?iake.  They  were,  madam ;  and  as  I  copied  them  myself,  in  a 
feigned  hand,  there  can  be  no  suspicion  whence  they  came. 

"  Lady  Sneer.  Did  you  circulate  the  report  of  Lady  Brittle's  in- 
trigue with  Captain  Boastall  ? 

"  Snake.  That's  in  as  fine  a  train  as  your  ladyship  could  wish.  In 
the  common  course  of  things  I  think  it  must  reach  Mrs.  Clackitt's 
ears  within  four-and-twenty  hours,  and  then,  you  know,  the  business 
is  as  good  as  done. 

"  Lady  Sneer.  Why,  truly  Mrs.  Clackitt  has  a  very  pretty  talent, 
and  a  great  deal  of  industry. 

"  Snake.  True,  madam,  and  has  been  tolerably  successful  in  her 
day.  To  my  knowledge  she  has  been  the  cause  of  six  matches  being 
broken  off,  and  three  sons  disinherited.  .  .  .  Nay,  I  have  more  than 
once  traced  her  causing  a  tete-a-tete  in  The  Town  and  Country  Maga- 
zine, when  the  parties  perhaps  had  never  seen  each  other  before  in 
the  course  of  their  lives. 

"  Lady  Sneer.  She  certainly  has  talents,  but  her  manner  is  gross. 

"  Snake.  'Tis  very  true.  She  generally  designs  well,  has  a  free 
tongue,  and  a  bold  invention;  but  her  colouring  is  too  dark,  and  her 


80  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

outlines  often  extravagant.  She  wants  that  delicacy  of  tint  and 
mellowness  of  sneer  which  distinguish  your  ladyship's  scandal 

"Lady  Sneer.  You  are  partial,  Snake. 

"  Snake.  Not  in  the  least ;  everybody  allows  that  Lady  Sneerwell 
can  do  more  with  a  word  and  a  look  than  many  can  with  the  most 
laboured  detail,  even  when  they  happen  to  have  a  little  truth  on  their 
side  to  support  it." 

It  seems  needless  to  reproduce  the  dull  and  artificial 
scenes  which  Moore  quotes  by  way  of  showing  how  Sher- 
idan floundered  through  the  mud  of  commonplace  before 
he  found  firm  footing  on  the  ground  where  he  achieved  so 
brilliant  a  success.  They  are  like  an  artist's  first  experi- 
ments in  design,  and  instructive  only  in  that  sense.  Per- 
haps it  was  in  the  despair  which  is  apt  to  seize  the  imag- 
ination when  a  young  writer  finds  his  performance  so 
inadequate  to  express  his  idea  that  Sheridan  threw  the 
whole  machinery  of  the  scandalous  circle  aside  and  betook 
himself  to  the  construction  of  the  other  drama  which  had 
got  into  his  brain — the  story  of  old  Teazle  and  his  young 
wife,  and  of  the  brothers  Plausible  or  Pliant,  or  half  a  doz- 
en names  besides,  as  the  fancy  of  their  author  varies.  In 
the  first  sketch  our  friend  Sir  Peter,  that  caustic  and  poL 
ished  gentleman,  is  Solomon  Teazle,  a  retired  tradesm 
who  maunders  over  his  first  wife,  and  his  own  folly,  after 
getting  rid  of  her,  in  encumbering  himself  with  another ; 
but  after  a  very  brief  interval  this  beginning,  altogether 
unsuitable  to  the  writer's  tastes  and  capabilities,  changes 
insensibly  into  the  more  harmonious  conception  of  the  old 
husband  as  we  know  him.  The  shopkeeper  was  not  in 
Sheridan's  way.  Such  a  hobereau  as  Bob  Acres,  with  his 
apings  of  fashion,  might  come  within  his  limited  range, 
but  it  did  not  extend  to  those  classes  which  lie  outside 
of  society.     Trip  and  Fag  and  their  fellows  were  strictly 


% 


in.]  THE  "SCHOOL  FOR  SCANDAL."  81 

within  this  circle  ;  they  are  as  witty  as  their  masters  in  the 
hands  of  the  dramatist,  and  rather  more  fine,  as  is  the  nat- 
ure of  a  gentleman's  gentleman ;  and  even  royalty  itself 
must  be  content  to  share  the  stage  with  these  indispensa- 
ble ministers  and  copyists.  But  the  world  beyond  was  at 
all  times  a  sealed  book  to  this  historian  of  fashionable 
folly — and  he  was  wisely  inspired  in  throwing  over  the 
plebeian.  He  seems  very  speedily  to  have  found  out  his 
mistake,  for  nothing  more  is  heard  of  Solomon;  and  in 
the  next  fragmentary  scene  the  dramatist  glides  at  once 
into  a  discussion  of  Lady  Teazle's  extravagances,  in  which 
we  have  a  great  deal  of  unmeaning  detail,  all  cleared  away 
like  magic  in  the  existing  scene,  which  is  framed  upon  it, 
yet  is  as  much  superior  to  it  as  a  lively  and  amusing  al- 
tercation can  be  to  the  items  of  a  lengthy  account  inter- 
spersed with  mutual  recriminations.  It  would  appear,  how- 
ever, that  the  Teazle  play  was  subsequent  to  the  Sneer- 
well  one,  for  there  is  a  great  deal  of  pointed  and  brilliant 
writing,  and  much  that  is  retained  almost  without  change, 
in  the  first  adumbrations  of  the  great  scenes  with  Joseph 
Surface.  "  So,  then,"  says  Lady  Teazle,  in  this  early  sketch, 
"  \^^would  have  me  sin  in  my  own  defence,  and  part  with 
m^^rtue  to  preserve  my  reputation,"  an  epigrammatic 
phrase  which  is  retained  without  alteration  in  the  final 
scene.  Moore  tell  us  that  this  sentence  is  "  written  in 
every  direction,  and  without  any  material  change  in  its 
form,  over  the  pages  of  his  different  memorandum-books." 
It  is  evident  that  it  had  caught  Sheridan's  fancy,  and  that 
he  had  favourite  phrases,  as  some  people  have  favourite 
children,  produced  on  every  possible  occasion,  and  always 
delighted  in. 

How  it  was  that  Sheridan  was  led  to  amalgamate  these 
two  plays  into  one  we  are  left  altogether  without  informa- 


82  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

tion.  Moore's  knowledge  seems  to  have  been  drawn  en- 
tirely from  the  papers  put  into  his  hands,  which  probably 
no  one  then  living  knew  much  about,  belonging  as  they 
did  to  the  early  career  of  a  man  who  had  lived  to  be  old, 
and  abandoned  altogether  the  walk  of  literature,  in  which 
he  had  won  his  early  laurels.  He  surmises  that  the  two- 
act  comedy  which  Sheridan  tells  Linley  is  about  to  be  put 
in  rehearsal  may  have  been  the  Teazle  play ;  but  this  is 
mere  conjecture,  and  we  can  only  suppose  that  Sheridan 
had  found,  as  he  grew  better  acquainted  with  the  require- 
ments of  the  stage,  that  neither  of  the  plots  he  had 
sketched  out  was  enough  to  keep  the  interest  of  the  au- 
dience ;  and  that,  in  the  necessity  that  pressed  upon  him 
for  something  to  fill  the  stage  and  stop  the  mouths  of  his 
new  company  and  associates,  he  threw  the  two  plots  to- 
gether by  a  sudden  inspiration,  knitting  the  one  to  the 
other  by  the  dazzling  links  of  those  scandalous  scenes 
which,  to  tell  the  truth,  have  very  little  to  do  with  either. 
"Whether  he  transferred  these  bodily  from  an  already  pol- 
ished and  completed  sketch,  working  them  into  the  mate- 
rials needed  for  his  double  intrigue  with  as  little  alteration 
of  the  original  fabric  as  possible,  or  if  in  his  haste  and 
confidence  of  success  he  deliberately  refrained  from  con- 
necting them  with  the  action  of  the  piece,  we  have  no 
way  of  telling.  The  daring  indifference  which  he  shows 
to  that  supposed  infallible  rule  of  dramatic  composition 
which  ordains  that  every  word  of  the  dialogue  should  help 
on  the  action,  is  edifying,  and  shows  how  entirely  indepen- 
dent of  rule  is  success.  At  the  same  time  it  strikes  us  as 
curious  that  Sheridan  did  not  find  it  expedient  to  employ 
the  evil  tongues  a  little  more  upon  the  group  of  people 
whose  fortunes  are  the  immediate  subject  of  the  comedy. 
For  instance,  there  is  no  warrant  whatever  in  the  play  for 


in.]  THE  "SCHOOL  FOR  SCANDAL."  83 

the  suspicion  of  Charles  Surface  which  Sir  Peter  expresses 
at  an  exciting  moment.  A  hint  of  his  character  and  im- 
pending troubles  is  indeed  given  us,  but  nothing  that  can 
in  the  least  link  his  name  with  that  of  Lady  Teazle — 
which  seems  a  distinct  inadvertence  on  the  part  of  the 
dramatist,  since  there  might  have  been  an  admirable  op- 
portunity for  piquing  our  curiosity  by  a  seance  of  the 
scandalmongers  upon  the  possible  relations  between  those 
two  gay  prodigals. 

The  scandalous  scenes,  however  (save  the  last  of  them), 
are  almost  entirely  without  connexion  with  the  plot.  They 
can  be  detached  and  enjoyed  separately  without  any  sen- 
sible loss  in  the  reader's  (or  even  spectator's)  mind.  In 
themselves  the  management  of  all  the  details  is  inimitable. 
The  eager  interchange  takes  away  our  breath ;  there  is  no 
break  or  possibility  of  pause  in  it.  The  malign  suggest- 
ion, the  candid  astonishment,  the  spite  which  assails,  and 
the  malicious  good-nature  which  excuses,  are  all  balanced 
to  perfection,  with  a  spirit  which  never  flags  for  a  moment. 
And  when  the  veterans  in  the  art  are  joined  by  a  brilliant 
and  mischievous  recruit  in  the  shape  of  Lady  Teazle,  rush- 
ing in  amongst  them  in  pure  gaite  dn  coew,  the  energy  of 
her  young  onslaught  outdoes  them  all.  The  talk  has  never 
been  so  brilliant,  never  so  pitiless,  as  when  she  joins  them. 
She  adds  the  gift  of  mimicry  to  all  their  malice,  and  pro- 
duces a  genuine  laugh  even  from  those  murderers  of  their 
neighbours'  reputations.  This  is  one  of  the  side-lights, 
perhaps  unintentional,  which  keen  insight  throws  upon 
human  nature,  showing  how  mere  headlong  imitation  and 
high  spirits,  and  the  determination  to  do  whatever  other 
people  do,  and  a  little  more,  go  further  than  the  most 
mischievous  intention.  Perhaps  the  author  falls  into  his 
usual  fault  of  giving  too  much  wit  and  point  to  the  utter- 


84  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

ances  of  the  young  wife,  who  is  not  intended  to  be  clever ; 
but  her  sudden  dash  into  the  midst  of  the  dowagers,  and 
unexpected  victory  over  them  in  their  own  line,  is  full  of 
nature.  "  Very  well,  Lady  Teazle,  I  see  you  can  be  a  little 
severe,"  says  Lady  Sneerwell,  expressing  the  astonishment 
of  the  party ;  while  Mrs.  Candour  hastens  to  welcome  Sir 
Peter  on  his  arrival  with  her  habitual  complaint  that  "they 
have  been  so  censorious — and  Lady  Teazle  as  bad  as  any 
one."  The  slanderers  themselves  are  taken  by  surprise, 
and  the  indignation  and  horror  of  the  husband  know  no 
bounds.  There  is  no  more  successful  touch  in  the  whole 
composition. 

Apart  from  these  scenes,  the  construction  of  the  play 
shows  once  more  Sheridan's  astonishing  instinct  for  a 
striking  situation.  Two  such  will  immediately  occur  to 
the  mind  of  the  reader — the  great  screen  scene,  and  that 
in  which  Sir  Charles  Surface  sells  his  family  portraits. 
The  first  is  incomparably  the  greater  of  the  two,  and  one 
which  has  rarely  been  equalled  on  the  stage.  The  succes- 
sion of  interviews,  one  after  another,  has  not  a  word  too 
much ;  nor  could  the  most  impatient  audience  find  any 
sameness  or  repetition  in  the  successive  arrivals,  each  one 
of  which  adds  an  embarrassment  to  the  dilemma  of  Jo- 
seph Surface,  and  helps  to  clear  up  those  of  his  victims. 
As  the  imbroglio  grows  before  our  eyes,  and  every  door  of 
escape  for  the  hypocrite  is  shut  up,  without  even  the  com- 
mon sentimental  error  of  awakening  commiseration  for 
him,  the  most  matter-of-fact  spectator  can  scarcely  repress, 
even  when  carried  along  by  the  interest  of  the  story,  a 
sensation  of  admiring  wonder  at  the  skill  with  which  all 
these  combinations  are  effected.  It  is  less  tragic  than  Tar- 
tuffe,  insomuch  as  Orgon's  profound  belief,  and  the  darker 
guilt  of  the  domestic  traitor,  move  us  more  deeply ;  aud  it 


in.]  THE  "  SCHOOL  FOR  SCANDAL."  85 

is  not  terrible,  like  the  unveiling  of  Iago»;  but  neither  is  it 
trivia],  as  the  ordinary  discoveries  of  deceitful  wives  and 
friends  to  which  we  are  accustomed  on  the  stage  so  gener- 
ally are  ;  and  the  fine  art  with  which  Sir  Peter — something 
of  an  old  curmudgeon  in  the  earlier  scenes — is  made  unex- 
pectedly to  reveal  his  better  nature,  and  thus  prepare  the 
way,  unawares,  for  the  re-establishment  of  his  own  happi- 
ness at  the  moment  when  it  seems  entirely  shattered,  is 
worthy  of  the  highest  praise.  It  would,  no  doubt,  have 
been  higher  art  could  the  dramatist  have  deceived  his 
audience  as  well  as  the  personages  of  the  play,  and  made 
us  also  parties  in  the  surprise  of  the  discovery.  But  this  is 
what  no  one  has  as  yet  attempted,  not  even  Shakspeare, 
and  we  have  no  right  to  object  to  Sheridan  that  we  are  in 
the  secret  of  Joseph's  baseness  all  the  time,  just  as  we  are 
in  the  secret  of  Tartuffe's,  and  can  with  difficulty  under- 
stand how  it  is  that  he  deceives  any  one.  There  remains 
for  the  comedy  of  the  future  (or  the  tragedy,  which,  wher- 
ever the  deeper  chords  of  life  are  touched,  comes  to  very 
much  the  same  thing)  a  still  greater  achievement — that  of 
inventing  an  Iago  who  shall  deceive  the  audience  as  well 
as  the  Othello  upon  whom  he  plays,  and  be  found  out 
only  by  us  and  our  hero  at  the  same  moment.  Probably, 
could  such  a  thing  be  done,  the  effect  would  be  too  great, 
and  the  indignation  and  horror  of  the  crowd,  thus  skilfully 
excited,  produce  a  sensation  beyond  that  which  is  permis- 
sible to  fiction.  But  Sheridan  does  not  deal  with  any 
tragical  powers.  Nothing  deeper  is  within  his  reach  than 
the  momentary  touch  of  real  feeling  with  which  Lady 
Teazle  vindicates  herself,  and  proves  her  capacity  for  bet- 
ter things.  The  gradual  development  of  the  situation,  the 
unwilling  agency  of  the  deceiver  in  opening  the  eyes  and 
touching  the  heart  of  the  woman  he  hopes  to  seduce,  and 


86  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

clearing  the  character  of  the  brother  whom  he  desires  to 
incriminate  ;  the  confusion  of  his  mind  as  one  after  an- 
other so  many  dangerous  elements  come  together;  the 
chuckling  malice  of  the  old  man,  eager,  half  to  exonerate 
Joseph  from  the  charge  of  austerity,  half  to  betray  his 
secret,  little  suspecting  how  nearly  his  own  credit  is  in- 
volved ;  the  stupefying  dismay  of  the  disclosure — are  man- 
aged with  the  most  complete  success.  The  scene  is  in 
itself  a  succinct  drama,  quite  comprehensible  even  when 
detached  from  its  context,  and  of  the  highest  effectiveness. 
So  far  as  morals  are  concerned,  it  is  as  harmless  as  any 
equivocal  situation  can  be.  To  be  sure,  the  suggestion  of 
the  little  milliner  is  no  more  savoury  than  the  presence  of 
Lady  Teazle  is  becoming  to  her  reputation  and  duty ;  but 
the  utter  confusion  of  the  scheme,  and  the  admirable  and 
unexpected  turn  given  to  the  conclusion  by  her  genuine 
perception  of  her  folly  and  her  husband's  merit,  go  as  far 
as  is  possible  to  neutralise  all  that  is  amiss  in  it.  There 
had  been  a  temporary  doubt  as  to  whether  the  Rivals 
would  catch  the  public  fancy  :  there  was  none  at  all  about 
this. 

The  other  great  scene,  that  in  which  Charles  Surface 
sells  his  pictures,  has  qualities  of  a  different  kind.  It  is 
less  perfect  and  more  suggestive  than  most  of  Sheridan's 
work.  We  have  to  accept  the  favourite  type  of  the  stage 
hero — the  reckless,  thoughtless,  warm-hearted,  impression- 
able spendthrift,  as  willing  to  give  as  he  is  averse  to  pay, 
scattering  his  wild  oats  by  handfuls,  wasting  his  life  and 
his  means  in  riotous  living,  yet  easily  touched  and  full  of 
kind  impulses — before  we  can  do  justice  to  it.  This  char- 
acter, whatever  moralists  may  say,  always  has,  and  probably 
always  will  retain  a  favoured  place  in  fiction.  Though  we 
know  very  well  that  in  real  life  dissipation  does  not  keep 


ni.]  THE  "SCHOOL  FOR  SCANDAL."  87 

the  heart  soft  or  promote  gratitude  and  other  generous 
sentiments,  yet  we  are  still  willing  to  believe  that  the  riot- 
ous youth  whose  animal  spirits  carry  him  away  into  de- 
vious paths  is  at  bottom  better  than  the  demure  one  who 
keeps  his  peccadilloes  out  of  sight  of  the  world.  The 
eighteenth  century  had  no  doubt  on  the  subject.  Charles 
Surface  is  the  light-hearted  prodigal  whose  easy  vices  have 
brought  him  to  the  point  of  destruction.  Whatever  grave 
thoughts  on  the  subject  he  may  have  within,  he  is  resolute 
in  carrying  out  his  gay  career  to  the  end,  and  ready  to 
laugh  in  the  face  of  ruin.  A  more  severe  taste  might  con- 
sider his  light-heartedness  swagger  and  his  generosity  prod- 
igality ;  but  we  are  expected  on  the  stage  to  consider  such 
characteristics  as  far  more  frequently  conjoined  with  a 
good  heart  than  sobriety  and  decency.  The  reckless  young 
reprobate,  at  the  lowest  ebb  of  his  fortune,  ready  to  throw 
away  anything  or  everything,  and  exposing  himself  hope- 
lessly and  all  his  follies  to  the  rich  uncle  who  has  come  to 
test  him,  conciliates  our  good  opinion  from  the  beginning 
by  the  real  kindness  with  which  he  protects  "  little  Pre- 
mium," the  supposed  money-lender,  from  the  rude  pleas- 
antries of  his  boon  companions.  The  touch  of  despera- 
tion which  is  in  his  gaiety  without  ever  finding  expres- 
sion in  words  enhances  the  effect  of  his  headlong  talk  and 
wild  wit.  When  his  companion,  Careless,  to  whom  it  is 
all  a  good  joke,  complains, "  Charles,  I  haven't  a  hammer; 
and  what's  an  auctioneer  without  a  hammer?"  the  master 
of  the  ruined  house  clutches,  with  a  laugh,  at  the  family 
pedigree,  firmly  and  tightly  encircling  its  roller,  and  throws 
that  to  him :  "  Here,  Careless,  you  shall  have  no  common 
bit  of  mahogany ;  here's  the  family  tree  for  you,  and  you 
may  knock  down  my  ancestors  with  their  own  pedigree," 
he  cries.     Such  a  laujjh  raises  echoes  which  we  wonder 


88  RICHARD  BRIXSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

whether  Sheridan  contemplated  or  had  any  thought  of. 
As  the  prodigal  rattles  on,  with  almost  too  much  swing 
and  "  way  "  upon  him  in  the  tragi-comedy  of  fate,  we  are 
hurried  along  in  the  stream  of  his  wild  gaiety  with  sym- 
pathy which  he  has  no  right  to.  The  audience  is  all  on 
his  side  from  the  first  word.  Sir  Oliver  is  a  weak-headed 
old  gentleman,  not  at  all  equal  to  Sir  Peter,  and  is  over- 
come with  ludicrous  ease  and  rapidity  ;  but  the  obstinacy 
of  affectionate  gratitude  with  which  the  hot-headed  young 
fellow  holds  by  the  portrait  of  his  benefactor,  and  the 
fine  superiority  with  which  he  puts  all  "little  Premium's" 
overtures  aside,  without  putting  on  any  new-born  virtue  or 
pretensions  to  amendment,  are  in  their  way  a  masterpiece. 
He  pretends  no  admiration  for  the  distant  uncle,  but  speaks 
of  him  as  freely  as  of  the  other  sacrificed  ancestors.  "  The 
little  ill-looking  fellow  over  the  settee"  evokes  no  senti- 
ment from  him.  He  is  quite  willing  to  drawr  a  post-obit 
upon  Sir  Oliver's  life,  and  to  jest  at  him  as  a  little  nabob 
with  next  to  no  liver.  But  for  all  that,  a  sort  of  impu- 
dent fidelity,  a  reckless  gratitude,  is  in  the  ruined  prodi- 
gal. The  equally  reckless  but  more  composed  friend,  who 
is  ready  to  abet  him  in  all  his  folly  with  the  indifference 
of  an  unconcerned  bystander,  the  wondering  contempt  of 
the  Jew,  the  concealed  and  somewhat  maudlin  emotion  of 
the  once  indignant  uncle,  surround  the  figure  of  the  swag- 
gering gallant  with  the  most  felicitous  background.  It  is 
far  less  elaborate  and  complicated  than  the  companion 
scene,  but  it  is  scarcely  less  successful. 

It  is  a  curious  particular  in  the  excellence  of  the  piece, 
however,  and  scarcely  a  commendation,  we  fear,  in  the 
point  of  view  of  art,  that  these  very  striking  scenes,  as  well 
as  those  in  which  the  scandalmongers  hold  their  amusing 
conclave,  may  all  be  detached  from  the  setting  with  the 


in]  THE  "SCHOOL  FOR  SCANDAL."  89 

greatest  ease  and  without  any  perceptible  loss  of  interest. 
Never  was  there  a  drama  which  it  was  so  easy  to  take 
to  pieces.  The  screen  scene  in  itself  forms,  as  we  have 
already  pointed  out,  a  succinct  and  brilliant  little  per- 
formance which  the  simple  audience  could  understand; 
and  though  the  others  might  require  a  word  or  two  of 
preface,  they  are  each  sufficiently  perfect  in  themselves  to 
admit  of  separation  from  the  context.  It  says  a  great 
deal  for  the  power  of  the  writer  that  this  should  be  con- 
sistent with  the  general  interest  of  the  comedy,  and  that 
we  are  scarcely  conscious,  in  the  acting,  of  the  looseness 
with  which  it  hangs  together,  or  the  independence  of  the 
different  parts.  Sheridan,  who  was  not  a  playwright  by 
science,  but  rather  by  accident,  did  not  in  all  likelihood, 
in  the  exuberance  of  his  strength,  trouble  himself  with 
any  study  of  the  laws  that  regulate  dramatic  composition. 
The  unities  of  time  and  place  he  preserves,  indeed,  because 
it  suits  him  to  do  so ;  the  incidents  of  his  pieces  might  all 
happen  in  a  few  hours,  for  anything  we  know,  and  with 
singularly  little  change  of  scene  ;  but  the  close  composition 
and  interweaving  of  one  part  with  another,  which  all 
dramatists  ought,  but  so  very  few  do,  study,  evidently  cost 
him  little  thought.  He  has  the  quickest  eye  for  a  situa- 
tion, and  knows  that  nothing  pleases  the  playgoing  pub- 
lic so  much  as  a  strong  combination  and  climax ;  but  he 
does  not  take  the  trouble  to  rivet  the  links  of  his  chain  or 
fit  them  very  closely  into  each  other.  It  is  a  wonderful 
tribute  to  his  power  that,  notwithstanding  this  looseness  of 
construction,  few  people  object  to  allow  to  the  School  for 
Scandal  the  pre-eminence  accorded  to  it  by  admiring  con- 
temporaries as  being  the  best  modern  English  comedy. 
There  is  more  nature  and  more  story  in  She  Stoops  to 
Conquer ;    but  nothing  so  brilliant,  so  incisive,  no  such 


90  RICHARD  BRLNSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

concentration  of  all  the  forces  of  art,  and  nothing  like 
the  sparkle  of  the  dialogue,  the  polish  and  ease  of  diction. 
Goldsmith's  play,  though  produced  only  three  or  four 
years  before,  is  a  generation  older  in  atmosphere  and  sen- 
timent ;  but  it  is  the  only  one  which  has  proved  a  com- 
petitor with  Sheridan's  great  comedy,  or  that  we  can  com- 
pare with  it.  To  go  back  to  Sbakspeare  and  place  these 
brilliant  studies  of  Society  in  the  eighteenth  century  by 
the  side  of  that  radiant  world  of  imagination  which  took 
refuge  in  the  woods  of  xlrden,  or  found  a  place  in  the  en- 
chanted island,  would  be  futile  indeed.  It  would  be  little 
less  foolish  than  to  compare  Sheridan's  prologues  and  oc- 
casional verses  with  the  Allegro  and  the  Penseroso.  Not 
to  that  region  or  near  it  did  he  ever  reach.  It  was  not 
his  to  sound  the  depths  of  human  thought  or  mount  to 
any  height  of  fancy.  Rosalind  and  Prospero  were  out  of 
his  reckoning  altogether  ;  but  for  a  lively  observation  of 
what  was  going  on  upon  the  surface  of  life,  with  an  oc- 
casional step  a  little  way — but  only  a  little  way — beyond, 
and  a  fine  instinct  for  the  concentration  of  incident  and 
interest  which  make  a  striking  dramatic  scene,  nobody 
has  excelled  him,  and  very  few  indeed  reach  anything  like 
the  level  of  his  power. 

This  play,  which  the  actors  had  begun  to  rehearse  be- 
fore it  was  all  written,  was  received  by  everybody  con- 
nected with  the  theatre  with  excitement  and  applause. 
Garrick  himself,  it  is  said,  attended  the  rehearsals,  and 
"  was  never  known  on  any  former  occasion  to  be  more 
anxious  for  a  favourite  piece."  The  old  actor  threw  him- 
self with  generous  warmth  into  the  interest  of  the  new 
dramatist,  upon  whom  for  the  moment  the  glory  of  Drury 
Lane  depended.  Moore  quotes  a  note  from  him  which 
proves  the  active  interest  he  took  in  the  production  of  the 


in.]        THE  "  SCHOOL  FOR  SCANDAL.1'         01 

new  play.  "  A  gentleman  who  is  as  mad  as  himself  about 
ye  School"  he  writes,  " remarked  that  the  characters  upon 
ye  stage  at  ye  falling  of  ye  screen  stand  too  long  before 
they  speak.  I  thought  so  too  ye  first  night:  he  said  it 
was  ye  same  on  ye  2nd,  and  was  remark'd  by  others:  tho' 
they  should  be  astonish'd  and  a  little  petrify'd,  yet  it  may 
be  carry'd  to  too  great  a  length."  His  affectionate  inter- 
terest  is  still  further  proved  by  the  prologue,  in  which  he 
speaks  of  Sheridan  with  a  sort  of  paternal  admiration : 

"  Is  our  young  bard  so  young  to  think  that  he 
Can  stop  the  full  spring-tide  of  calumny  ? 
Knows  he  the  world  so  little,  and  its  trade  ? 
Alas  !  the  devil's  sooner  raised  than  laid. 
So  strong,  so  swift,  the  monster  there's  no  gagging : 
Out  Scandal's  head  off,  still  the  tongue  is  wagging. 
Proud  of  your  smiles,  once  lavishly  bestowed, 
Again  our  young  Don  Quixote  takes  the  road ; 
To  show  his  gratitude  he  draws  his  pen, 
And  seeks  the  hydra,  Scandal,  in  his  den. 
For  your  applause  all  perils  he  would  through — 
He'll  fight — that's  write — a  caballero  true, 
Till  every  drop  of  blood — that's  ink — is  spilt  for  you." 

It  is  a  ludicrous  circumstance  in  the  history  that  an 
attempt  was  made  after  Sheridan's  death,  and  by  no  less 
strange  a  hand  than  that  of  his  first  biographer,  Watkins, 
to  question  the  authorship  of  the  School  for  Scandal, 
which,  according  to  this  absurd  story,  was  the  composi- 
tion of  an  anonymous  young  lady,  who  sent  it  to  the 
management  of  Drury  Lane  shortly  before  her  death,  an 
event  of  which  Sheridan  took  advantage  to  produce  her 
work  as  his  own !  That  any  reasonable  creature  could 
be  found  to  give  vent  to  such  a  ridiculous  fiction  is  an 
evidence  of  human  follv  and  malignity  more  remarkable 


92  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

than  any  in  the  play,  and  laughably  appropriate  as  con- 
nected with  it — as  if  Sir  Benjamin  Backbite  had  risen 
from  the  grave  to  avenge  himself. 

It  is  needless  to  add  that  the  popularity  which  has 
never  failed  for  more  than  a  century  attended  the  first 
production  of  the  great  comedy.  It  brought  back  pros- 
perity with  a  bound  to  the  theatre,  which  had  been  strug- 
gling in  vain  under  Sheridan's  management  against,  so  to 
speak,  Sheridan  himself  at  Covent  Garden,  in  the  shape 
of  the  Rivals  and  Duenna.  Two  years  after  its  first  pro- 
duction it  is  noted  in  the  books  of  the  theatre  that  "  the 
School  for  Scandal  damped  the  new  pieces."  Nothing 
could  stand  against  it,  and  the  account  of  the  nightly  re- 
ceipts shows  with  what  steadiness  it  continued  to  fill  the 
treasury,  which  had  been  sinking  to  a  lower  and  lower  ebb. 

Many  attempts  were  made  at  the  time,  and  have  been 
made  since,  to  show  how  and  from  whom  Sheridan  de- 
rived his  ideas :  a  more  justifiable  appropriation  than  that 
of  the  play  entire,  though  perhaps  a  still  more  disagree- 
able imputation,  since  many  who  would  not  give  credit  to 
the  suggestion  of  a  literary  crime  and  wholesome  rob- 
bery would  not  hesitate  to  believe  the  lesser  accusation. 
Plagiarism  is  vile,  and  everywhere  to  be  condemned ;  but 
it  is  an  easy  exercise  of  the  critical  faculty,  and  one  in 
which,  in  all  generations,  some  of  the  smaller  professors  of 
the  craft  find  a  congenial  field  of  labour,  to  ferret  out  re- 
semblances in  imaginative  compositions,  which  are  as  nat- 
ural as  the  resemblances  between  members  of  the  same 
race,  were  it  not  for  the  invidious  suggestion  that  the  one 
is  a  theft  from  the  other.  It  would  be  nearly  as  reason- 
able to  say  that  the  family  air  and  features  of  a  noble 
house  were  stolen  from  the  ancestors  of  the  same.  It  is 
suggested  accordingly  that  Joseph  and  Charles  Surface 


in.]  THE  "  SCHOOL  FOR  SCANDAL."  92 

came  from  Tom  Jones  and  BUfil;  that  Mrs.  Malaprop  was 
perhaps  Mrs.  Slip-slop,  or  perhaps  a  sort  of  hash  of  Miss 
Tabitha  Bramble  and  her  waiting  -  maid ;  and  even  that 
the  amusing  meetings  of  the  School  for  Scandal  were  a 
reflection  from  the  Misanthrope.  There  will  always  be 
some  who  will  take  a  pleasure  in  depreciating  the  origi- 
nality of  an  author  in  this  way;  but  it  is  scarcely  necessary, 
now  that  Sheridan  himself  has  become  a  classic,  to  take 
any  trouble  in  pointing  out  the  pettiness  of  such  criticism, 
so  far  as  he  is  concerned.  Like  Moliere,  he  took  his  own 
where  he  found  it,  with  an  inalienable  right  to  do  so  which 
no  reasonable  and  competent  literary  tribunal  would  ever 
deny.  The  process  by  which  one  idea  strikes  fire  upon 
another  and  helps  to  hand  the  light  of  imagination  along 
the  line,  is  a  natural  and  noble  one,  honourable  to  every 
mind  which  has  to  do  with  it,  and  as  unlike  the  baseness 
of  literary  robbery  or  imitation  as  any  natural  growth  and 
evolution  can  be.  It  is,  indeed,  one  of  the  finest  offices  of 
the  poet  to  awaken  smouldering  thoughts  in  other  intel- 
ligences, and  strike  off  into  the  darkness  as  many  varied 
scintillations  of  kindred  light  as  the  race  can  produce.  A 
curious  instance  of  the  ease  with  which  accusations  of  this 
sort  are  made,  as  well  as  of  how  a  small  slander  will  ex- 
tend and  spread,  is  to  be  found,  of  all  places  in  the  w"orld, 
in  the  record  made  by  Samuel  Rogers  of  the  conversa- 
tions of  Charles  James  Fox.  Sheridan,  among  other  ap- 
propriations, had  been  supposed  to  take  the  idea  of  Sir 
Oliver's  return  from  his  own  mother's  novel  of  Sidney 
Biddulph.  lie  might  for  that  matter  have  taken  it  from 
a  hundred  novels,  since  no  incident  was  more  hackneyed. 
"  Thought  Sidney  Biddulph  one  of  the  best  novels  of  the 
age,"  Rogers  reports  Fox  to  have  said.  "  Sheridan  denied 
having  read  it,  though  the  plot  of  his  School  for  Scandal 


94  RICHARD  BRIXSLEY  SHERIDAN,  [chap. 

■was  borrowed  from  it."  Sir  Peter  Teazle's  ball,  which, 
after  missing  Charles  Surface,  "  struck  against  a  little 
bronze  Shakspeare  that  stood  over  the  fireplace,  glanced 
out  of  the  window  at  a  right  angle,  and  wounded  the 
postman  who  was  just  coming  to  the  door  with  a  double 
letter  from  Northamptonshire,"  was  scarcely  a  more  suc- 
cessful example  of  the  amplification  of  report  than  this. 
It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  Fox  meant  any  harm  to  his 
friend  and  sometime  colleague ;  but  the  expansion  of  the 
original  statement,  that  the  idea  of  the  Indian  uncle's  re- 
turn came  from  this  source,  to  the  bold  assertion  that  the 
plot  of  the  School  for  Scandal  was  borrowed  from  it,  is 
worthy  of  Lady  Sneerwell  herself. 

The  play  was  not  published  in  any  authorised  edition 
during  Sheridan's  lifetime,  probably  because  it  was  more 
to  his  profit,  according  to  theatrical  regulations,  that  it 
should  not  be  so — though  Sheridan's  grand  statement  that 
lie  had  been  "nineteen  years  endeavouring  to  satisfy  him- 
self with  the  style  of  the  School  for  Scandal,  and  had 
not  succeeded,"  may  be  taken  as  the  reason  if  the  reader 
chooses.  He  was  sufficiently  dilatory  and  fastidious  to 
have  made  that  possible.  It  was,  however,  printed  in  Dub- 
lin (which  was  the  great  seat  of  literary  piracy  before  the 
Union,  when  it  shifted  farther  west),  from  a  copy  which 
Sheridan  had  sent  to  his  sister,  Mrs.  Lefanu,  "to  be  dis- 
posed of  for  her  own  advantage  to  the  manager  of  the 
Dublin  theatre."  Almost  immediately  after  its  produc- 
tion several  of  the  scenes  were  "adapted"  and  acted  in 
France ;  and  it  has  since  been  printed,  not  only  in  innu- 
merable editions  in  England,  but  translated  into  every 
European  language.  Nor  is  there,  we  may  say,  any  new 
play,  unattended  by  special  stimulation  of  adventitious  in- 
terest, which  is  still  so  certain  of  securing  "  a  good  house." 


in.]  "THE  CRITIC."  Uo 

In  the  same  year  in  which  this  masterpiece  came  into 
being-,  and  moved  by  the  same  necessities,  Sheridan  pro- 
duced the  last  of  his  dramatic  compositions  —  a  work 
which  has,  perhaps,  occasioned  more  innocent  amusement 
and  cordial  laughter  than  any  other  of  the  kind  in  the 
language,  and  has  furnished  us  with  more  allusions  and 
illustrations  than  anything  else  out  of  Shakspeare.  The 
Critic  is,  of  all  Sheridan's  plays,  the  one  which  has  least 
claim  to  originality.  Although  it  is  no  copy,  nor  can  be 
accused  of  plagiarism,  it  is  the  climax  of  a  series  of  at- 
tempts descending  downwards  from  the  Elizabethan  era, 
when  the  Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle  wTas  performed 
amid  the  running  commentaries  of  the  homely  critics; 
and  it  could  scarcely  have  died  out  of  the  recollection  of 
Sheridan's  audience  that  Fielding  had  over  and  over  again 
made  the  same  attempt  in  the  previous  generation.  But 
what  his  predecessors  had  tried  with  different  degrees  of 
success — or  failure — Sheridan  accomplished  triumphantly. 
The  humours  of  the  Rehearsal,  still  sufficiently  novel  to 
himself  to  retain  all  their  whimsical  originality,  he  alone 
had  the  power  so  to  set  upon  the  stage  that  all  that  is 
ludicrous  in  dramatic  representation  is  brought  before  us 
— but  with  so  much  dramatic  success  that  the  criticism 
becomes  only  a  more  subtle  kind  of  applause,  and  in  the 
act  of  making  the  theatre  ridiculous  he  makes  it  doubly 
attractive.  This  amusing  paradox  is  carried  out  with 
the  utmost  skill  and  boldness.  In  the  School  for  Scan- 
dal Sheridan  had  held  his  audience  in  delighted  suspense 
in  scene  after  scene  which  had  merely  the  faintest  link 
of  connexion  with  the  plot  of  his  play,  and  did  little  more 
than  interrupt  its  action.  But  in  the  new  work  he  held 
the  stage  for  nearly  half  the  progress  of  the  piece  by  the 
mere  power  of  pointed   and  pungent  remarks,  the  keen 


96  RICHARD  BRLNSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

interchanges  of  witty  talk,  the  personality  of  three  or 
four  individuals  not  sufficiently  developed  to  be  consid- 
ered as  impersonations  of  character,  and  with  nothing  to 
do  but  to  deliver  their  comments  upon  matters  of  literary 
interest.  Rarely  has  a  greater  feat  been  performed  on 
the  stage.  We  are  told  that  Sir  Fretful  Plagiary  was  in- 
tended for  Cumberland,  that  Dangle  meant  somebody  else, 
and  that  this  it  was  that  gave  the  chief  interest  to  the  first 
portion  of  the  play.  But  what  did  the  multitude  care 
about  Cumberland  ?  Should  it  occur  to  any  clever  play- 
wright of  our  day  to  produce  upon  the  stage  a  caricature 
of  one  of  our  poets — we  humbly  thank  Heaven,  much  great- 
er personages  than  Cumberland — a  cultivated  audience  for 
the  first  two  or  three  nights  might  enjoy  the  travesty.  But 
London,  on  the  whole,  when  it  had  once  gazed  at  the  imi- 
tated great  man,  would  turn  away  without  an  attempt  to 
suppress  the  yawn  which  displayed  its  indifference.  No 
popular  andience  anywhere  wTould  be  moved  by  such  an  ex- 
pedient— and  only  a  popular  audience  can  secure  the  suc- 
cess of  a  play.  It  was  not  Cumberland  :  it  was  not  the  the- 
atrical enthusiast  represented  by  Dangle.  Nothing  can  be 
more  evanescent  than  successes  produced  by  such  means. 
And  this  was  a  vigorous  and  healthy  success,  not  an  affair 
of  the  coteries.  It  is  all  the  more  astonishing  because  the 
play  on  words  is  somewhat  elaborate,  the  speeches  in  many 
cases  long-winded,  and  the  subjects  discussed  of  no  general 
human  interest.  Indeed,  Mr.  Puff's  elaborate  description 
of  puffing,  when  subjected  to  the  test  of  reading,  is,  it  must 
be  confessed,  a  little  tedious :  which  is,  of  all  the  sins  of 
the  stage,  the  most  unpardonable.  Supposing  any  young 
dramatist  of  the  present  day  to  carry  such  a  piece  to  a 
stage  manager,  we  can  imagine  the  consternation  with 
which  his  proposal  would  be  received.     What!  take  up 


hi.]  "THE  CRITIC."  97 

the  time  of  the  public  with  a  discussion  of  literary  squab- 
bles, and  the  passion  of  an  irate  author  attacked  by  the 
press  ! — expect  the  world  to  be  amused  by  the  presentation 
upon  the  stage  even  of  the  most  caustic  of  Saturday  He- 
viewers,  the  sharpest  operator  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
although  in  the  very  act  of  baiting  a  playwright !  The 
young  experimentalist  would  be  shown  to  the  door  with 
the  utmost  celerity.  His  manuscript  would  not  even  be 
unrolled — in  all  probability  his  theatrical  friend  would 
read  him  a  lecture  upon  his  utter  misconception  of  the 
purposes  of  the  stage.  "  My  dear  sir,"  we  can  imagine 
him  saying,  with  that  mixture  of  blandness  and  impatience 
with  which  a  practical  man  encounters  an  idealist,  "  there 
cannot  be  a  greater  mistake  than  to  suppose  that  the  world 
cares  for  what  literary  persons  say  of  each  other.  Your 
testy  old  gentleman  might  be  bearable  if  he  had  a  daugh- 
ter to  marry,  or  a  son  to  disinherit ;  but  all  this  noise  and 
fury  about  a  review  !  Tut !  the  audience  would  be  bored 
to  death."  And  so  any  sensible  adviser  would  say.  Yet 
Sir  Fretful,  between  his  two  tormentors,  and  the  cheerful 
bustle  and  assured  confidence  of  Mr.  Puff,  have  held  their 
ground  when  hundreds  of  sensational  dramas  have  drooped 
and  died.  Never  was  a  more  wonderful  literary  feat.  The 
art  of  puffing  has  been  carried  to  a  perfection  unsuspected 
by  Mr.  Puff,  and  not  one  person  in  a  thousand  has  the 
most  remote  idea  who  Cumberland  was;  but  The  Critic  is 
as  delightful  as  ever,  and  we  listen  to  the  gentlemen  talk- 
ing with  as  much  relish  as  our  grandfathers  did.  Nay,  the 
simplest-minded  audience,  innocent  of  literature,  and  per- 
haps not  very  sure  what  it  all  means,  will  still  answer  to 
the  touch  and  laugh  till  they  cry  over  the  poor  author's 
wounded  vanity  and  the  woes  of  Tilburina.  Shakspeare, 
it  is  evident,  found  the  machinery  cumbrous,  and  gave  up 


98  RICHARD  BRLVSLEY  SHLRIDAN.  [chap. 

the  idea  of  making  Sly  and  his  mockers  watch  the  progress 
of  the  Taming  of  the  Shrew;  and  Beaumont  and  Fletcher 
lose  our  interest  altogether  in  their  long-drawn-out  by-play, 
though  the  first  idea  of  it  is  comical  in  the  highest  degree. 
Nor  could  Fielding  keep  the  stage  with  his  oft-repeated 
efforts,  notwithstanding  the  wit  and  point  of  many  of  his 
dialogues.  But  Sheridan  at  last,  after  so  many  attempts, 
found  out  the  right  vein.  It  is  evident  by  the  essays 
made  in  his  own  boyhood  that  the  subject  had  attracted^ 
him  from  a  very  early  period.  His  lively  satire,  keen  as 
lightning,  but  harmless  as  the  flashing  of  the  summer 
storm  which  has  no  thunder  in  it,  finds  out  every  crevice 
in  the  theatrical  mail.  When  he  has  turned  the  author 
outside  in,  and  exposed  all  his  little  weaknesses  (not  with- 
out a  sharper  touch  here,  for  it  is  Mr.  Puff,  the  inventor  of 
the  art  of  advertising  as  it  was  in  those  undeveloped  days, 
and  not  any  better  man,  who  fills  the  place  of  the  success- 
ful dramatist),  he  turns  to  the  play  itself  with  the  same 
delightful  perception  of  its  absurdities.  The  bits  of  dia- 
logue which  are  interposed  sparkle  like  diamonds : 

"  Sneer.  Pray,  Mr.  Puff,  how  came  Sir  Christopher  Hatton  never  to 
ask  that  question  before  ? 

"  Puff.  What,  before  the  play  began  ?     How  the  plague  could  he  ? 
"Dangle.  That's  true,  i'faithl" 

And  again : 

"  Dangle.  Mr.  Puff,  as  he  knows  all  this,  why  does  Sir  Walter  go 
on  telling  him  ? 

"Puff.  But  the  audience  are  not  supposed  to  know  anything  of 
the  matter,  are  they  ? 

"  Sneer.  True ;  but  I  think  you  manage  ill ;  for  there  certainly 
appears  no  reason  why  Sir  Walter  should  be  so  communicative. 

;<  Puff.  'Fore  Gad.  now,  that  is  one  of  the  most  ungrateful  obser- 


in.]  v     "THE  CRITIC."  99 

rations  I  ever  heard  ! — for  the  less  inducement  he  has  to  tell  all  this, 
the  more  I  think  you  ought  to  be  obliged  to  him,  for  I'm  sure  you'd 
know  nothing  of  the  matter  without  it. 

"  Bangle.  That's  very  true,  upon  my  word." 

In  these  interpolations  every  word  tells ;  but  there  is 
no  malice  in  the  laughing  champion  who  strikes  so  full 
in  the  centre  of  the  shield,  and  gets  such  irresistible  fool- 
ing out  of  the  difficulties  of  his  own  art.  It  is  amus- 
ing to  remember — though  Leigh  Hunt,  in  his  somewhat 
shrill  and  bitter  sketch  of  Sheridan,  points  it  out  with 
unfriendly  zeal — that  the  sentimental  dreams  which  he 
afterwards  prepared  for  the  stage  were  of  the  very  order 
which  he  here  exposed  to  the  laughter  of  the  world.  "  It 
is  observable,  and  not  a  little  edifying  to  observe,"  says 
this  critic,  "  that  when  those  who  excel  in  a  spirit  of  satire 
above  everything  else  come  to  attempt  serious  specimens 
of  the  poetry  and  romance  whose  exaggerations  they  ridi- 
cule, they  make  ridiculous  mistakes  of  their  own,  and  of 
the  very  same  kind:  so  allied  is  habitual  want  of  faith 
with  want  of  all  higher  power.  The  style  of  the  Stranger 
is  poor  and  pick-thank  enough ;  but  Pizarro  in  its  highest 
flights  is  downright  booth  at  a  fair — a  tall,  spouting  gentle- 
man in  tinsel."  „  The  words  in  italics  are  worthy  of  Joseph 
Surface.  But  the  more  sympathetic  reader  will  be  glad  to 
remember  that  Pizarro  has  passed  out  of  the  recollection 
of  the  world  so  completely  that  no  one  but  a  biographer 
or  unfriendly  critic  would  ever  think  nowadays  of  associat- 
ing it  with  Sheridan's  name.  "  Serious  specimens  of  poetry 
and  romance"  were  entirely  out  of  his  way.  The  most 
extravagant  of  his  admirers  has  never  claimed  for  him 
any  kindred  with  the  Shakspearian  largeness  which  makes 
Lear  and  Touchstone  members  of  the  same  vast  family. 
That  Sheridan  himself,  when  driven  to  it,  fell  into  the 


100  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

lowest  depths  of  dramatic  bathos  need  not  injure  our  ap- 
preciation of  his  delightful  and  light-hearted  mockery  and 
exposure  of  all  its  false  effects.  In  The  Critic  he  is  at  the 
height  of  his  powers  ;  his  keen  sense  of  the  ridiculous 
might  have,  though  we  do  not  claim  it  for  him,  a  moral 
aim,  and  be  directed  to  the  reformation  of  the  theatre ; 
but  his  first  inspiration  came  from  his  own  enjoyment  of 
the  humours  of  the  stage  and  perception  of  its  whimsical 
incongruities.  No  doubt,  however,  he  was  weighed  down 
by  the  preposterous  dramas  which  were  submitted  to  him 
for  the  use  of  the  company  at  Drury  Lane  when  he  broke 
forth  into  this  brilliant  piece  of  fun  and  mockery.  It 
afforded  a  most  useful  lesson  to  the  dramatical  writers 
then  abusing  their  prerogative  and  filling  the  stage  with 
bathos  and  highflown  folly ;  and  there  is  no  reason  why 
we  should  refuse  to  Sheridan  the  credit  of  a  good  purpose, 
as  well  as  of  a  most  amusing  and  in  no  way  ill-natured 
extravaganza,  admirably  true,  so  far  as  it  goes,  and  skim- 
ming the  surface  of  society  and  of  some  developments  of 
human  nature  with  an  unerring  hand. 

Another  of  the  many  strange  anecdotes  told  of  Sher- 
idan's dilatoriness  and  headlong  race  against  time  at  the 
end  is  connected  with  the  composition  of  The  Critic.  It 
is  perfectly  in  keeping  with  his  character,  but  it  must  not 
be  forgotten  that  it  was  his  policy  to  suffer  such  tales  to 
be*  current,  and  even  to  give  them  a  certain  amount  of 
justification.  The  Critic  was  announced  and  talked  of 
long  before  its  completion,  nay,  before  it  was  begun — not 
a  singular  event,  perhaps,  in  dramatic  experience.  It  was 
then  sent  to  the  theatre  in  detached  scenes,  as  had  been 
the  case  with  the  School  for  Scandal.  Finally  a  definite 
date  was  fixed  for  its  appearance — the  30th  of  October; 
but  when  the  26th  had  arrived  the  work,  to  the  despair 


in.]  «  the  critic;'  101 

of  everybody  connected  with  the  theatre,  was  still  incom- 
plete. ■    -        ,  ,  ,     0  -'  -   • 

We  quote  from  Sheridaniana,  an,  anoa/uiDUs  publica- 
tion, intended  to  make  up  the  dsikiencies  of  Moore's  life,: 
the  following  account  of  the  amusing  e*peflient»bj  winch 
the  conclusion  was  accomplished  : 

"  Dr.  Ford  and  Mr.  Linley,  the  joint  proprietors,  began  to  get  ner- 
vous and  uneasy,  and  the  actors  were  absolutely  cm  desespoir,  espe- 
cially King,  who  was  not  only  stage-manager,  but  had  to  play  Puff. 
To  him  was  assigned  the  duty  of  hunting  down  and  worrying  Sher- 
idan about  the  last  scene.  Day  after  day  passed,  until  the  last  day 
but  two  arrived,  and  still  it  did  not  make  its  appearance.  At  last  Mr. 
Linley,  who,  being  his  father-in-law,  was  pretty  well  aware  of  his 
habits,  hit  upon  a  stratagem.  A  night  rehearsal  of  The  Critic  was 
ordered,  and  Sheridan,  having  dined  with  Linley,  was  prevailed  to  go. 
When  they  were  on  the  stage  King  whispered  to  Sheridan  that  he 
had  something  particular  to  communicate,  and  begged  he  would  step 
into  the  second  greenroom.  Accordingly  Sheridan  went,  and  found 
there  a  table,  with  pens,  ink,  and  paper,  a  good  fire,  an  arm-chair  at 
the  table,  and  two  bottles  of  claret,  with  a  dish  of  anchovy  sand- 
wiches. The  moment  he  got  into  the  room  King  stepped  out  and 
locked  the  door;  immediately  after  which  Linley  and  Ford  came  up 
and  told  the  author  that  until  he  had  written  the  scene  he  would  be 
kept  where  he  was.  Sheridan  took  this  decided  measure  in  good 
part :  he  ate  the  anchovies,  finished  the  claret,  wrote  the  scenej  and 
laughed  heartily  at  the  ingenuity  of  the  contrivance." 

We  have  the  less  compunction  in  quoting  an  anecdote, 
vouched  for  only  by  anonymous  witnesses,  that  there  can 
be  little  doubt  it  was  a  kind  of  story  which  Sheridan 
would  have  given  no  contradiction  to.  The  dash  of  sud- 
den creation  making  up  for  long  neglect  of  duty  was  the 
conventional  mode  of  procedure  for  such  a  man.  To  dis- 
cuss the  immorality  of  such  a  mode  of  action  would  be 
altogether  out  of  place  here.     Every  evasion   of  duty  is 


102  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

due  to  some  sort  of  selfishness ;  but  the  world  has  always 
been  indulgent  (up  co*a  certain  point)  of  the  indolent  and 
vagvant  cha:sac:cY  winch  is  conjoined  with  a  capacity  for 
gre?t  \vcil:  rn  an  emergency,  and,  so  long  as  the  thing  is 
'done;  and 'done  with1  sfien  brilliancy  at  last,  will  condone 
any  irregularity  in  the  doing  of  it. 

The  result,  it  is  said,  of  The  Critic  was  immediately 
apparent.  For  some  time  after  its  production  the  old  type 
of  tragedy  became  impossible,  at  least  at  Drury  Lane. 
Dramas  in  which  "  the  heroine  was  found  to  be  forestalled 
by  Tilburina"  could  not  be  any  great  loss  to  the  stage; 
and  it  is  amusing  to  realise  the  aspect  of  an  audience  fresh 
from  The  Critic,  when  such  a  tragedy  was  placed  on  the 
boards,  while  the  spectators  vainly  struggled  to  shut  out 
a  recollection  of  the  Governor  opposing  his  honour  to  all 
the  seductions  of  his  daughter,  or  Whiskerandos  refusing 
to  die  again  on  any  entreaty,  from  their  minds.  It  was 
little  wonder  if  all  the  craft  were  furious,  and  the  authors 
— whose  productions  were  chased  by  laughter  from  the 
stage — could  not  find  any  abuse  bitter  enough  for  Sher- 
idan. 

There  was,  unfortunately,  very  good  cause  for  complaint 
on  other  grounds.  To  speak  of  his  habits  of  business  as 
being  bad  would  be  absurd,  for  he  had  no  business  habits 
at  all.  His  management  of  the  theatre  when  it  fell  into 
his  hands  was  as  discreditable  as  could  be.  He  allowed 
everything  to  go  to  confusion,  and  letters  and  the  manu- 
scripts submitted  to  him,  and  every  application  relating  to 
the  theatre,  to  accumulate,  till  even  the  cheques  for  which 
he  sent  to  his  treasury,  and  which  he  had  a  thousand  uses 
for,  were  confounded  in  the  general  heap  and  lost  to  him, 
till  some  recurring  incident  or  importunate  applicant  made 
an  examination  of  these  stores  a  necessity.     It  is  some- 


in.]  "THE  CRITIC."  103 

what  difficult  to  make  out  how  far  and  how  long,  or  if 
ever,  he  was  himself  responsible  for  the  stage-management; 
but  all  the  business  of  the  theatre  went  to  confusion  in  his 
hands,  and  it  would  appear  that  at  first  -at  least  the  com- 
pany took  example  by  the  disorderly  behaviour  of  their 
head.  Garrick,  who  had  hoped  so  highly  from  the  new 
proprietor  and  done  so  much  for  him,  had  to  apologise  as 
he  could  for  a  state  of  things  which  looked  like  chaos 
come  again.  "Everybody  is  raving  against  Sheridan  for 
his  supineness,"  cries  one  of  Garrick' s  correspondents ;  and 
the  unfortunate  Hopkins,  the  prompter,  whose  "Amen!" 
upon  the  end  of  the  manuscript  we  have  described,  affords 
us  a  picture  of  the  kingdom  of  misrule  which  existed  at 
Drury  Lane  which  is  pitiful  enough : 

"We  played  last  night  Much  Ado  About  Notldng'1'1  [writes  this 
martyr],  "  and  had  to  make  an  apology  for  the  three  principal  parts. 
About  twelve  o'clock  Mr.  Henderson  sent  word  that  he  was  not  able 
to  play.  We  got  Mr.  Louis,  from  Covent  Garden,  who  supplied  the 
part  of  Benedick.  Soon  after  Mr.  Parsons  sent  word  he  could  not 
play.  Mr.  Moody  supplied  the  part  of  Dogberry  ;  and  about  four  in 
the  afternoon  Mr.  Vernon  sent  word  he  could  not  play.  Mr.  Mattock 
supplied  his  part  of  Balthazar.  I  thought  myself  very  happy  in  get- 
ting these  wide  gaps  so  well  stopped.  In  the  middle  of  the  first  act 
a  message  was  brought  to  me  that  Mr.  Lamasli,  who  was  to  play  the 
part  of  Borachio,  was  not  come  to  the  house.  I  had  nobody  then 
who  could  go  on  for  it,  so  I  was  obliged  to  cut  two  scenes  in  the  first 
and  second  act  entirely  out,  and  get  Mr.  Wrighton  to  go  on  for  the 
piece.  At  length  we  got  the  play  over  without  the  audience  finding 
it  out.  We  had  a  very  bad  house.  Mr.  Parsons  is  not  able  to  play 
in  the  School  for  Scandal  to-morrow  night :  do  not  know  how  we 
shall  be  able  to  settle  that.  I  hope  the  pantomime  may  prove  suc- 
cessful, and  release  us  from  this  dreadful  situation." 

This  was  the  condition  into  which  the  orderly  and  well- 
governed  theatre  had  fallen  soon  after  Garrick  resigned 


104  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

into  Sheridan's  younger  and,  as  he  hoped,  better  hands — 
the  young  Hercules  who  was  to  succeed  old  Atlas  in  car- 
rying the  weight  of  the  great  undertaking  on  his  shoul- 
ders, his  kingdom  and  authority.  The  receipts,  that  infal- 
lible thermometer  of  theatrical  success,  soon  began  to  fail, 
and  everything  threatened  destruction,  which  was  averted 
violently  by  the  production  one  after  the  other  of  Sher- 
idan's two  plays,  only  to  fall  back  into  wilder  chaos  after- 
wards. For  some  part  of  this  time  the  elder  Sheridan — 
who,  after  their  reconciliation,  had  engaged  with  his  son 
as  one  of  the  members  of  the  company — was  stage-mana- 
ger. It  is  pleasant  to  see  the  claims  of  nature  thus  ac- 
knowledged, and  to  have  this  practical  proof  that  Sher- 
idan still  believed  in  his  father's  talents  and  capabilities ; 
but  it  does  not  seem  to  have  been  a  fortunate  attempt. 
Thomas  Sheridan  is  said  to  have  been  as  harsh  as  his  son 
was  easy  and  disorderly.  His  highest  effort  in  his  profes- 
sion had  been  made  in  the  hope  of  rivalling  the  great 
actor,  with  whose  name  and  fame  and  all  the  traditions  of 
his  method  Drury  Lane  was  rilled.  He  was  an  elocution- 
ist, and  believed  salvation  to  depend  upon  a  certain  meas- 
ure of  delivery  which  he  had  himself  invented  and  per- 
fected, and  concerning  which  he  was  at  once  an  enthusiast 
and  a  pedant.  To  introduce  such  a  man  to  the  little 
despotism  of  a  theatre,  and  set  him  over  the  members  of 
an  opposite  faction  in  his  art,  was,  even  when  tempered  by 
the  mildness  of  Linley,  a  desperate  expedient,  and  his  reign 
did  not  last  very  long.  Whether  it  returned  to  Sheridan's 
own  shiftless  hands  before  a  more  competent  head  was 
found  it  is  difficult  to  make  out ;  but  at  all  events  it  was 
long  enough  under  his  disorderly  sway  to  turn  everything 
upside  down.  The  ridiculous  story  referred  to  above 
about  the  authorship  of  the  School  for  Scandal  was  sup- 


iil]  "THE  CRITIC."  105 

ported  by  the  complaints  of  authors  whose  manuscript 
dramas  had  never  been  returned  to  them,  and  to  whom  it 
was  easy  to  say  that  Sheridan  had  stolen  their  best  ideas 
and  made  use  of  them  as  his  own.  A  portion  of  one  of 
the  first  scenes  in  The  Critic,  which  is  now  out  of  date, 
and  which,  indeed,  many  people  may  read  without  any 
real  understanding  of  what  it  refers  ta,  makes  special  refer- 
ence to  complaints  and  animadversions  of  this  kind.  Sir 
Fretful  announces  that  he  has  sent  his  play  to  Covent 
Garden  : 

"Sneer.  I  should  have  thought,  now,  it  would  have  been  better 
cast  (as  the  actors  call  it)  at  Drury  Lane. 

" Sir  Fret.  Oh  lud,  no!  never  send  a  play  there  while  I  live. 
Hark'ye  [whispers  Sneer], 

"  Sneer.  Writes  himself!     I  know  he  does — 

"Sir  Fret.  I  say  nothing.  I  take  away  from  no  man's  merit,  am 
hurt  at  no  man's  good-fortune.  I  say  nothing.  But  this  I  will  say  : 
through  all  my  knowledge  of  life  I  have  observed  that  there  is  not  a 
passion  so  strongly  rooted  in  the  human  heart  as  envy. 

"  Sneer.  I  believe  you  have  reason  for  what  you  say,  indeed. 

"  Sir  Fret.  Besides — I  can  tell  you  it  is  not  always  safe  to  leave  a 
play  in  the  hands  of  those  who  write  themselves. 

11  Sneer.  What !  they  may  steal  from  them,  my  dear  Flagiary  ? 

"Sir  Fret.  Steal !  to  be  sure  they  may;  and,  egad  !  serve  your  best 
thoughts  as  gipsies  do  stolen  children,  disBgure  them  to  make  them 
pass  for  their  own — 

"Sneer.  But  your  present  work  is  a  sacrifice  to  Melpomene,  and 
he,  you  know — 

"Sir  Fret.  That's  no  security:  a  dexterous  plagiarist  may  do  any- 
thing. Why,  sir,  for  aught  I  know,  he  might  take  out  some  of  the 
best  things  in  my  tragedy  and  put  them  into  his  own  comedy." 

Thus  it  is  apparent  Sheridan  himself  was  perfectly  con- 
scious of  the  things  that  were  said  about  him.  lie  gave 
no  contradiction,  it  is  said,  to  the  absurd  story  about 
the  School  for  Scandal — how  should  he  ?      To  such  an 


10G  RICHARD  DRIXSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

extraordinary  accusation  a  contemptuous  silence  was  the 
best  answer.  But  it  is  with  an  easy  good-humour,  a  laugh 
of  the  most  cheerful  mockery,  that  he  confronts  the  bit- 
ter gossip  which  suggests  the  unsafeness  of  leaving  manu- 
scripts in  his  hands.  He  was  not  himself  ashamed  of 
his  sins  in  this  respect.  His  bag  of  letters  all  jumbled 
together,  his  table  covered  with  papers,  the  suitors  who 
waited  in  vain  for  a  hearing,  the  business  that  was  done 
by  fits  and  starts  in  the  interval  of  his  other  engagements 
— all  this  did  not  affect  his  conscience.  Cumberland,  as 
if  to  prove  his  identity  with  Sheridan's  sketch,  describes 
in  a  letter  to  Garrick  the  ways  of  the  new  manager ;  and 
the  reader  will  see  by  this  brief  paragraph  how  like  was 
the  portrait.  "I  read,"  said  the  dramatist,  "the  tragedy 
in  the  ears  of  the  performers  on  Friday  morning.  I  was 
highly  flattered  by  the  audience,  but  your  successor  in  the 
management  is  not  a  representative  of  your  polite  atten- 
tion to  authors  on  such  occasions,  for  he  came  in  yawning 
at  the  fifth  act  with  no  other  apology  than  having  sat  up 
two  nights  running.  It  gave  me  not  the  slightest  offence, 
as  I  put  it  all  to  the  habit  of  dissipation  and  indolence ; 
but  I  fear  his  office  will  suffer  from  want  of  due  atten- 
tion," Sir  Fretful  adds. 

This  was  within  a  few  years  of  Sheridan's  entry  upon 
the  property  and  responsibility  of  the  theatre.  All  that 
he  possessed — which  means  all  that  he  had  by  miraculous 
luck  and  by  mysterious  means,  which  no  one  has  ever 
been  able  to  fathom,  scraped  together — was  embarked  in 
it.  It  had  enabled  him  to  enter  at  once  upon  a  way  of 
living  and  into  a  sphere  of  society  in  which  the  son  of  the 
needy  player  and  lecturer,  the  idle  youth  of  Bath,  without 
a  profession  or  a  penny — the  rash  lover  who  had  married 
without  the  most  distant  prospect  of  being  able  to  main- 


in.]  "THE  CRITIC."  10*7 

tain  his  wife,  yet  haughtily  forbidden  her  to  exercise  her 
profession  and  maintain  him — could  never  have  expected 
to  find  himself.  If  ever  man  had  an  inducement  to  de- 
vote himself  to  the  cultivation  of  the  extraordinary  oppor- 
tunities which  had  been  thus  given  to  him,  it  was  be. 
But  be  bad  never  been  trained  to  devote  himself  to  any- 
thing, and  the  prodigality  of  good -fortune  which  had 
fallen  upon  him  turned  his  head,  and  made  him  believe, 
no  doubt,  that  everything  was  to  be  as  easy  as  the  begin- 
ning. Garrick  had  made  a  great  fortune  from  the  the- 
atre, and  there  was  every  reason  to  suspect  that  Sheridan, 
so  easily  proved  the  most  successful  dramatist  of  his  day, 
might  do  still  more.  But  Sheridan,  alas !  had  none  of 
the  qualities  which  were  requisite  for  this  achievement ; 
even  in  composition  he  had  soon  reached  the  length  of 
his  tether.  Twice  he  was  able  to  make  up  brilliantly  by 
an  almost  momentary  effort  for  the  bad  effects  of  his  care- 
lessness in  every  practical  way.  But  it  is  not  possible  for 
any  man  to  go  on  doing  this  for  ever,  and  the  limit  of 
his  powers  was  very  soon  reached.  If  he  had  kept  to  his 
own  easy  trade  and  sphere,  and  refrained  from  public  life 
and  all  its  absorbing  cares,  would  he  have  continued  peri- 
odically to  re-make  his  own  fortune  and  that  of  the  the- 
atre by  a  new  play?  "Who  can  tell?  It  is  always  open 
to  the  spectator  to  believe  that  such  might  have  been  the 
case,  and  that  Sheridan,  put  into  harness  like  a  few  greater 
spirits,  might  have  maintained  an  endless  stream  of  pro- 
duction, as  Shakspeare  did.  But.  there  are  indications  of 
another  kind  which  may  lead  critics  to  decide  differently. 
Sheridan's  view  of  life  was  not  a  profound  one.  It  was 
but  a  vulgar  sort  of  drama,  a  problem  without  any  depths 
— to  be  solved  by  plenty  of  money  and  wine  and  pleasure, 
by  youth  and  high  spirits,  and  an  easy  lavishness  which 


108  RICHARD  BRIXSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

was  called  liberality,  or  even  generosity  as  occasion  served. 
But  to  Sheridan  there  was  nothing  to  find  out  in  it,  any 
more  than  there  is  anything  to  find  out  in  the  characters  of 
his  plays.  He  had  nothing  to  say  further.  Lady  Teazle's 
easy  penitence,  her  husband's  pardon,  achieved  by  the  ele- 
gant turn  of  her  head  seen  through  the  open  door,  and  the 
entry  of  Charles  Surface  into  all  the  good  things  of  this 
life,  in  recompense  for  an  insolent  sort  of  condescending 
gratitude  to  his  egotistical  old  uncle,  were  all  he  knew  on 
this  great  subject.  And  when  that  was  said  he  had  turned 
round  upon  the  stage,  the  audience,  the  actors,  and  the 
writers  who  catered  for  them,  and  made  fun  of  them  all 
with  the  broadest  mirth,  and  easy  indifference  to  what 
might  come  after.  What  was  there  more  for  him  to  say  ? 
The  Critic,  so  far  as  the  impulse  of  creative  energy,  or 
what,  for  want  of  a  better  word,  we  call  genius,  was  con- 
cerned, was  Sheridan's  last  word. 

It  was  during  this  period  of  lawlessness  and  misrule 
at  Drury,  while  either  Sheridan  himself  or  his  father 
was  holding  the  sceptre  of  unreason  there,  that  Garrick 
died.  He  had  retired  from  the  theatre  only  a  few  years 
before,  and  had  watched  it  with  anxious  interest  ever 
since,  no  doubt  deeply  disappointed  by  the  failure  of 
the  hopes  which  he  had  founded  upon  the  new  pro- 
prietorship and  the  brilliant  young  substitute  whom 
he  had  helped  to  put  into  his  own  place.  Sheridan  fol- 
lowed him  to  the  grave  as  chief  mourner — and  his  impres- 
sionable nature  being  strongly  touched  by  the  death  of 
the  man  who  had  been  so  good  to  him,  shut  himself  up 
for  a  day  or  two,  and  wrote  a  monody  to  Garrick's  mem- 
ory, which  met  with  much  applause  in  its  day.  It  was 
seemly  that  some  tribute  should  be  paid  to  the  great 
actor's  name  in  the  theatre  of  which  he  had  for  so  Ions: 


in.]  'THE  CRITIC." 

been  the  life  and  soul,  though  Sheridan's  production  of 
his  own  poem  at  the  end  of  the  play  which  was  then  run- 
ning, as  an  independent  performance  and  sacrifice  to  the 
manes  of  his  predecessor,  was  a  novelty  on  the  stage.  It 
was  partly  said  and  partly  sung,  and  must  have  been  on 
the  whole  a  curious  interlude  in  its  solemnity  amid  the 
bustle  and  animation  of  the  evening's  performance.  As  a 
poem  it  is  not  remarkable,  but  it  is  the  most  considerable 
of  Sheridan's  productions  in  that  way.  "The  most  charac- 
teristic point  in  it  is  the  complaint  of  the  evanescence  of 
an  actor's  fame  and  reputation,  which  was  very  appropriate 
to  the  moment,  though  perhaps  too  solemn  for  the  occa- 
sion. After  recording  the  honours  paid  to  the  poet  and 
painter,  he  contrasts  their  lasting  fame  with  the  temporary 
reputation  of  the  heroes  of  the  stage : 

"  The  actor  only  shrinks  from  time's  award ; 
Feeble  tradition  is  his  mern'ry's  guard  ; 
By  whose  faint  breath  his  merits  must  abide, 
Unvouch'd  by  proof — to  substance  unallied  ! 
E'en  matchless  Garrick's  art  to  heaven  resign'd, 
No  fix'd  effect,  no  model  leaves  behind  ! 
The  grace  of  action,  the  adapted  mien, 
Faithful  as  nature  to  the  varied  scene ; 
The  expressive  glance  whose  subtle  comment  draws 
Entranced  attention  and  a  mute  applause  ; 
Gesture  which  marks,  with  force  and  feeling  fraught, 
A  sense  in  silence  and  a  will  in  thought ; 
Harmonious  speech  whose  pure  and  liquid  tone 
Gives  verse  a  music  scarce  confess'd  its  own. 


All  perishable  !  like  th'  electric  fire, 

But  strike  the  frame — and  as  they  strike  expire ; 

Incense  too  pure  a  bodied  flame  to  bear, 

Its  fragrance  charms  the  sense  and  blends  with  air. 


110  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

Where,  then — while  sunk  in  cold  decay  he  lies, 

And  pale  eclipse  for  ever  seals  those  eyes — 

Where  is  the  blest  memorial  that  ensures 

Our  Garrick's  fame  ?     Whose  is  the  trust  ? — 'tis  yours  !" 

No  one  would  grudge  Garnet  all  the  honour  that  could 
be  paid  him  on  the  stage  where  he  had  been  so  important 
a  figure.  But  that  the  fame  of  the  actor  should  be  like 
incense  which  melts  in  the  air  and  dies  is  very  natural, 
notwithstanding  Sheridan's  protest.  The  poetry  which 
inspires  him  is  not  his,  nor  the  sentiments  to  which  he 
gives  expression.  He  is  but  an  interpreter;  he  has  no 
claim  of  originality  upon  our  admiration.  But  Garrick, 
if  any  man,  has  had  a  reputation  of  the  permanent  kind. 
His  name  is  as  well  known  as  that  of  Pope  or  Samuel 
Johnson.  His  generation,  and  the  many  notable  persons 
in  it,  gave  him  a  sort  of  worship  in  his  day.  He  was 
buried  in  Westminster  Abbey,  his  pall  borne  by  noble 
peers,  thirty-four  mourning  coaches  in  all  the  panoply  of 
woe  following,  "  while  the  streets  were  lined  with  groups 
of  spectators  falling  in  with  the  train  as  it  reached  the 
Abbey."  And  up  to  this  day  we  have  not  forgotten  Gar- 
rick. He  died  in  1779,  just  four  years  after  the  beginning 
of  Sheridan's  connection  with  the  theatre.  The  Monody 
came  in  between  the  School  for  Scandal  and  The  Critic, 
the  keenest  satire  and  laughter  alternating  with  the  dirge, 
which,  however,  was  only  permitted  for  a  few  nights — the 
audience  in  general  have  something  else  to  do  than  to 
amuse  itself  by  weeping  over  the  lost. 

It  must  have  been  shortly  after  this  solemn  perform- 
ance that  the  theatre  found  a  more  suitable  manager  in 
the  person  of  King,  the  actor ;  and  though  Sheridan  never 
ceased  to  harass  and  drain  it,  yet  the  business  of  every- 
day began  to  go  on  in  a  more  regular  manner.    His  father 


hi.]  "THE  CRITIC."  Ill 

retired  from  the  head  of  affairs,  and  he  had,  fortunately, 
too  much  to  do  cultivating  pleasure  and  society  to  attempt 
this  additional  work — even  with  the  assistance  of  his  Bet- 
sey, who  seems  to  have  done  him  faithful  service  through 
all  these  early  years.  He  was  still  but  twenty-nine  when 
his  growing  acquaintance  with  statesmen  and  interest  in 
political  affairs  opened  to  the  brilliant  young  man,  whom 
everybody  admired,  the  portals  of  a  more  important 
world. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

PUBLIC   LIFE. 

While  Sheridan  was  completing  Lis  brief  career  in  lit- 
erature, and  bringing  fortune  and  fame  to  one  theatre  after 
another  by  the  short  series  of  plays,  each  an  essay  of  a 
distinct  kind  in  dramatic  composition,  which  Ave  have  dis- 
cussed, his  position  had  been  gradually  changing.  It  had 
been  from  the  beginning,  according  to  all  rules  of  reason,  a 
perfectly  untenable  position.  When  he  established  himself 
in  London  with  his  beautiful  young  wife  they  had  neither 
means  nor  prospects  to  justify  the  life  which  they  imme- 
diately began  to  lead,  making  their  house,  which  had  no 
feasible  means  of  support,  into  a  sort  of  little  social  centre, 
and  collecting  about  it  a  crowd  of  acquaintances,  much 
better  off  than  they,  out  of  that  indefinite  mass  of  society 
which  is  always  ready  to  go  where  good  talk  and  good 
music  are  to  be  had,  to  amuse  themselves  at  the  cost  of  the 
rash  entertainers,  who  probably  believe  they  are  "making 
friends  "  when  they  expend  all  their  best  gifts  upon  an 
unscrupulous,  though  fashionable,  mob.  Nothing  could 
be  more  unwarrantable  than  this  outset  upon  an  existence 
which  was  serious  to  neither  of  them,  and  in  which  wit 
and  song  were  made  the  servants  of  a  vao-ue  and  sh  if  tins; 
public  which  took  everything  and  gave  nothing.  Society 
(in  words)  judges  leniently  the  foolish  victims  who  thus 


iv.]  PUBLIC  LIFE.  113 

immolate  themselves  for  its  pleasure,  giving  them  credit  for 
generosity  and  other  liberal  virtues ;  but  it  is  to  be  feared 
that  the  excitement  of  high  animal  spirits,  and  the  love  of 
commotion  and  applause,  have  more  to  do  with  their  folly 
than  kindness  for  their  fellow-creatures.  The  two  young 
Sheridans  had  both  been  brought  up  in  an  atmosphere  of 
publicity,  and  to  both  of  them  an  admiring  audience  was  a 
sort  of  necessity  of  nature.  And  it  is  so  easy  to  believe, 
and  far  easier  then  than  now,  that  to  "  make  good  friends" 
is  to  make  your  fortune.  Sheridan  was  more  fortunate 
than  it  is  good  for  our  moral  to  admit  any  man  to  be. 
His  rashness,  joined  to  his  brilliant  social  qualities,  seemed 
at  first — even  before  dramatic  fame  came  in  to  make  assur- 
ance sure — likely  to  attain  the  reward  for  which  he  hoped, 
and  to  bring  the  world  to  his  feet.  But  such  success,  if 
for  the  moment  both  brilliant  and  sweet,  has  a  Nemesis 
from  whose  clutches  few  escape. 

It  is  evident  that  there  were  some  connections  of  his 
boyish  days,  Harrow  schoolfellows,  who  had  not  forgotten 
him,  or  were  ready  enough  to  resume  old  acquaintance — 
and  gay  companions  of  the  holiday  period  of  Bath,  among 
whom  was  no  less  a  person  than  Windham — who  helped 
him  to  the  friendship  of  others  still  more  desirable.  Lord 
John  Townshcnd,  one  of  these  early  friends,  brought  him 
acquainted  with  the  most  intimate  and  distinguished  of 
his  after-associates — the  leader  with  whom  the  most  im- 
portant part  of  his  life  was  identified.  It  was  thus  that 
he  formed  the  friendship  of  Fox : 

"  I  made  [Townshend  writes]  the  first  dinner-party  at  which  they 
met,  having  told  Fox  that  all  the  notions  he  might  have  conceived 
of  Sheridan's  talents  and  genius  from  the  comedy  of  The  Rivals,  etc., 
would  fall  infinitely  short  of  the  admiration  of  his  astonishing  pow- 
ers which  I  was  sure  he  would  entertain  at  the  first  interview.  The 
6 


114  RICHARD  BRIXSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap 

first  interview  between  them — there  were  very  few  present,  only 
Tiekell  and  myself,  and  one  or  two  more — I  shall  never  forget.  Fox 
told  me  after  breaking  up  from  dinner  that  he  always  thought  Hare, 
after  my  uncle,  Charles  Townshend,  the  wittiest  man  he  ever  met 
with,  but  that  Sheridan  surpassed  them  both  infinitely;  and  Sher- 
idan told  me  next  day  that  he  was  quite  lost  in  admiration  of  Fox, 
and  that  it  was  a  puzzle  to  him  to  say  what  he  admired  most,  his 
commanding  superiority  of  talent  and  universal  knowledge,  or  his 
playful  fancy,  artless  manners,  and  benevolence  of  heart,  which 
showed  itself  in  every  word  he  uttered." 

At  very  nearly  the  same  time  Sheridan  became  ac- 
quainted with  Burke.  Dr.  Johnson  himself,  it  is  said,  pro- 
posed him  as  a  member  of  the  Literary  Club,  and  his 
friendship  and  connection  with  Garrick  must  have  intro- 
duced him  widely  among-  the  people  whom  it  is  distinction 
to  know.  "  An  evening  at  Sheridan's  is  worth  a  week's 
waiting  for,"  Fox  is  reported  to  have  said.  The  brilliant 
young  man  with  his  lovely  wife  was  such  a  representative 
of  genius  as  might  have  dazzled  the  wisest.  He  had  al- 
ready made  the  most  brilliant  beginning,  and  who  could 
tell  what  he  might  live  to  do,  with  the  world  still  before 
him,  vigorous  health  and  undaunted  spirits,  and  all  the 
charm  of  personal  fascination  to  enhance  those  undeniable 
powers  which  must  have  appeared  far  greater  then,  in  the 
glow  of  expectation,  and  lustre  of  all  they  were  yet  to  do, 
than  we  know  them  now  to  have  been  ?  And  when  he 
stepped  at  once  from  the  life,  without  any  visible  means, 
which  he  had  been  living,  to  the  position  of  proprietor  of 
Drury  Lane,  with  an  established  occupation  and  the  pros- 
pect of  certain  fortune,  there  seemed  nothing  beyond  his 
legitimate  ambition,  as  there  was  nothing  beyond  his  lux- 
ury and  hospitality,  and  lavish  enjoyment.  Social  success 
so  great  and  rapid  is  always  rare,  and  the  contrast  between 
the  former  life  of  the  poor  player's  penniless  son,  walking 


iv.]  PUBLIC  LIFE.  115 

the  streets  of  Bath  in  idleness,  without  a  sixpence  in  his 
pocket,  and  that  of  the  distinguished  young  dramatist  on 
the  edge  of  public  life,  making  a  close  alliance  with  two 
of  the  first  statesmen  of  the  day,  invited  everywhere, 
courted  everywhere,  must  have  been  overwhelming.  If 
his  head  had  been  turned  by  it,  and  the  head  of  his  Eliza 
(or  his  Betsey,  as  he  calls  her,  with  magnanimous  disdain 
of  finery),  who  could  have  been  surprised?  That  his 
foundations  were  altogether  insecure,  and  the  whole  fabric 
dangerous  and  apt  to  topple  over  like  a  house  of  cards, 
was  not  an  idea  which,  in  the  excitement  of  early  tri- 
umph, he  was  likely  to  dwell  upon. 

He  had,  as  is  evident  from  the  scattered  fragments 
which  Moore  has  been  careful  to  gather  up,  a  fancy  for 
politics  and  discussion  of  public  matters  at  an  early  period, 
and  intended  to  have  collected  and  published  various  essays 
on  such  subjects  shortly  after  his  marriage.  At  least,  it  is 
supposed  that  the  solemn  announcement  made  to  Linley 
of  "a  book"  on  which  he  had  been  "very  seriously  at 
work,"  which  he  was  just  then  sending  to  the  press,  "  and 
which  I  think  will  do  me  some  credit,  if  it  leads  to  noth- 
ing else,"  must  have  meant  a  collection  of  these  papers. 
Nothing  more  was  ever  heard  of  it,  so  far  as  appears ;  but 
they  were  found  by  his  biographer  among  the  chaos  of 
scraps  and  uncompleted  work  through  which  he  had  to 
wade.  Among  these,  Moore  says,  "  are  a  few  political  let- 
ters, evidently  designed  for  the  newspapers,  some  of  them 
but  half  copied  out,  and  probably  never  sent,  .  .  ."  and 
"some  commencements  of  periodical  papers  under  various 
names,  The  Dictator,  The  Dramatic  Censor,  etc.,  none  of 
them  apparently  carried  beyond  the  middle  of  the  first 
number ;"  among  which,  oddly  enough — a  strange  subject 
for  Captain  Absolute  to  take  in  hand — "  is  a  letter  to  the 


116  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

Queen  recommending  the  establishment  of  an  institution 
for  the  instruction  and  maintenance  of  young  females  in 
the  better  classes  of  life,  who,  from  either  the  loss  of  their 
parents  or  poverty,  are  without  the  means  of  being  brought 
np  suitably  to  their  station,"  to  be  founded  on  the  model 
of  St.  Cyr,  placed  under  the  patronage  of  her  Majesty, 
and  entitled  "The  Royal  Sanctuary."  This  fine  scheme 
is  supported  by  eloquence  thoroughly  appropriate  at  once 
to  the  subject  in  such  hands,  and  to  the  age  of  the  writer. 
"  The  dispute  about  the  proper  sphere  of  women  is  idle," 
he  says.  "  That  men  should  have  attempted  to  draw  a  line 
for  their  orbit  shows  that  God  meant  them  for  comets, 
and  above  our  jurisdiction.  With  them  the  enthusiasm 
of  poetry  and  idolatry  of  love  is  the  simple  voice  of  nat- 
ure." .  .  .  "IIow  can  we  be  better  employed,"  the  young 
man  adds,  with  a  lofty  inspiration  which  puts  all  modern 
agitations  on  the  subject  to  shame,  "than  in  perfecting 
that  which  governs  ns  ?  The  brighter  they  are  the  more 
shall  we  be  illumined.  Were  the  minds  of  all  women  cul- 
tivated by  inspiration  men  would  become  wiser,  of  course. 
They  are  a  sort  of  pentagraphs  with  which  Nature  writes 
on  the  heart  of  man  :  what  she  delineates  on  the  original 
map  will  appear  on  the  copy."  This  fine  contribution  to 
the  literature  of  a  subject  which  has  taken  so  important  a 
place  among  the  discussions  of  to-day  would,  perhaps,  how- 
ever, scarcely  accord  with  the  tone  of  the  arguments  now 
in  use. 

From  this  romantic  question  he  diverged  into  politics 
proper;  and,  under  the  stimulation  of  London  life,  and 
his  encounter  with  the  actual  warriors  of  the  day,  the 
tide  had  begun  to  run  so  strongly  that  Sheridan  ventured 
an  unwary  stroke  against  the  shield  which  Dr.  Johnson 
had  just  hung  up  against  alb  comers  in  his  pamphlet  on 


it.]  PUBLIC  LIFE.  117 

the  American  question.  Fortunately  for  himself,  it  did 
not  come  to  anything,  for  he  had  intended,  it  appears,  to 
instance  Johnson's  partisanship  on  this  occasion  as  a  proof 
of  the  effect  of  a  pension,  describing  "  such  pamphlets  "  as 
"  trifling  and  insincere  as  the  venal  quit-rent  of  a  birthday 
ode,"  and  stigmatising  the  great  writer  himself,  the  Auto- 
crat of  the  past  age,  as  "  an  eleemosynary  politician  who 
writes  on  the  subject  merely  because  he  has  been  recom- 
mended for  writing  otherwise  all  his  lifetime."  Such  pro- 
fanity will  make  the  reader  shiver;  but,  fortunately,  it 
never  saw  the  light,  and  with  easy  levity  the  young  drama- 
tist turned  round  and  paid  the  literary  patriarch  such  a 
compliment  upon  the  stage  as  perhaps  the  secret  assault 
made  all  the  warmer.  This  was  conveyed  in  a  prologue 
written  by  Sheridan  to  a  play  of  Savage: 

"So  pleads  the  tale  that  gives  to  future  times 
The  son's  misfortunes  and  the  parent's  crimes ; 
There  shall  his  fame,  if  own'd  to-night,  survive, 
Fix'd  by  the  hand  that  bids  our  language  live." 

Another  political  essay  of  a  less  personal  character  upon 
the  subject  of  Absenteeism  in  Ireland  also  forms  one  of 
these  unfinished  relics.  Sheridan  was  so  little  of  an  Irish- 
man in  fact  that  there  is  not,  we  think,  a  single  trace  even 
of  a  visit  to  his  native  country  from  the  time  he  left  it  as 
a  child,  and  all  his  personal  interests  and  associations  were 
in  England.  But  his  family  had  veered  back  again  to  the 
place  of  their  birth,  his  brother  and  sisters  having  settled 
in  Dublin,  and  no  doubt  a  warmer  interest  than  the  com- 
mon would  naturally  be  in  the  mind  of  a  man  whose 
veins  were  warmed  by  that  sunshine  which  somehow  gets 
into  English  blood  on  the  other  side  of  the  narrow  seas. 
In  those  elementarv  davs,  when  Ireland  was  but  beginning 


118  RICHARD  BRIXSLEY  SHERIDAX.  [chap. 

to  find  out  that  her  woes  could  have  a  remedy,  Absentee- 
ism was  the  first  and  greatest  of  the  evils  that  were  sup- 
posed to  oppress  her,  and  the  optimists  of  the  period 
were  disposed  to  believe  that,  could  her  landlords  be  per- 
suaded to  reside  on  their  estates,  all  would  be  well.  The 
changed  ideas  and  extraordinary  development  of  require- 
ments since  that  simple  age  make  it  interesting  to  quote 
Sheridan's  view  of  the  situation  then.  He  sets  before  us 
the  system  which  we  at  present  identify  with  the  tactics 
rather  of  Scotch  than  of  Irish  landlords,  that  of  sacrificing 
the  people  to  sheep  (since  followed  by  deer),  and  substi- 
tuting large  sheep-farms  for  the  smaller  holdings  of  the 
crofters  or  cotters,  with  considerable  force,  although  argu- 
ment on  that  side  of  the  question  has  gone  so  much  fur- 
ther and  sustained  so  many  changes  since  then: 

"  It  must  ever  be  the  interest  of  the  absentee  to  place  his  estate 
in  the  hands  of  as  few  tenants  as  possible,  by  which  means  there 
will  be  less  difficulty  or  hazard  in  collecting  his  rents  and  less  en- 
trusted to  an  agent,  if  the  estate  require  one.  The  easiest  method  of 
effecting  this  is  by  laying  out  the  land  for  pasturage,  and  letting  it 
in  grass  to  those  who  deal  only  in  a  '  fatal  living  crop,'  whose  prod- 
uce we  are  not  allowed  a  market  for  where  manufactured,  while  we 
want  art,  honesty,  and  encouragement  to  fit  it  for  home  consump- 
tion. Thus  the  indolent  extravagance  of  the  lord  becomes  subser- 
vient to  the  interests  of  a  few  mercenary  graziers — shepherds  of  most 
unpastoral  principles — while  the  veteran  husbandman  may  lean  on 
the  shattered,  unused  plough  and  view  himself  surrounded  with 
Hocks  that  furnish  raiment  without  food.  Or  if  his  honesty  be  not 
proof  against  the  hard  assaults  of  penury,  he  may  be  led  to  revenge 
himself  on  those  ducal  innovators  of  his  little  field — then  learn  too 
late  that  some  portion  of  the  soil  is  reserved  for  a  crop  more  fatal 
even  than  that  which  tempted  and  destroyed  him. 

"Without  dwelling  on  the  particular  ill  effects  of  non-residence 
in  this  case,  I  shall  conclude  with  representing  that  powerful  and 
supreme  prerogative  which  the  absentee  foregoes — the  prerogative 


it.]  PUBLIC  LIFE.  119 

of  mercy,  of  charity.  The  estated  resident  is  invested  with  a  kind 
of  relieving  Providence — a  power  to  heal  the  wounds  of  undeserved 
misfortune,  to  break  the  blows  of  adverse  fortune,  and  leave  chance 
no  power  to  undo  the  hopes  of  honest,  persevering  industry.  There 
cannot  surely  be  a  more  happy  station  than  that  wherein  prosperity 
and  worldly  interest  are  to  be  best  forwarded  by  an  exertion  of  the 
most  endearing  offices  of  humanity.  This  is  his  situation  who  lives 
on  the  soil  which  furnishes  him  with  means  to  live.  It  is  his  inter- 
est to  watch  the  devastation  of  the  storm,  the  ravage  of  the  flood,  to 
mark  the  pernicious  extremes  of  the  elements,  and  by  a  judicious 
indulgence  and  assistance  to  convert  the  sorrows  and  repinings  of 
the  sufferer  into  blessings  on  his  humanity.  By  such  a  conduct  he 
saves  his  people  from  the  sin  of  unrighteous  murmurs,  and  makes 
Heaven  his  debtor  for  their  resignation." 

It  is  strange  yet  not  incomprehensible  that  the  course 
of  events  should  have  turned  this  plaint  and  appeal  to 
the  landlords  to  unite  themselves  more  closely  with  their 
tenants  into  the  present  fierce  endeavour  to  get  rid  of 
landlords  altogether.  In  the  end  of  last  century  every- 
body repeated  the  outcry.  It  was  the  subject  of  Miss  Edge- 
worth's  popular  stories,  as  well  as  of  young  Sheridan's 
first  essay  in  political  writing.  Perhaps,  had  the  appeal 
been  cordially  responded  to  in  those  days,  there  would 
have  been  a  less  dangerous  situation,  a  milder  demand,  in 
our  own. 

These  not  very  brilliant  but  sensible  pages  were  the  first 
serious  attempts  of  Sheridan,  so  far  as  appears,  to  put 
together  his  thoughts  upon  a  political  subject.  He  had 
shown  no  particular  inclination  towards  public  life  in  his 
earlier  days  ;  no  resort  to  debating  clubs,  like  that  which  at 
a  later  period  brought  Canning  under  the  eyes  of  those  in 
power,  is  recorded  of  him.  Oratory,  in  all  probability,  had 
been  made  odious  to  him  by  his  father's  unceasing  devotion 
to  his  system,  and  the  prominence  which  the  art  of  elocu- 


120  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

tion  had  been  made  to  bear  in  bis  early  life.  And  it  is  a 
little  difficult  to  make  out  bow  it  was  tbat,  just  as  be  bad 
achieved  brilliant  success  in  one  career,  be  should  have  so 
abruptly  tinned  to  another,  and  set  bis  heart  and  hopes  on 
that  in  preference  to  every  other  path  to  distinction.  No 
doubt  a  secret  sense  tbat  in  this  great  sphere  there  were 
superior  triumphs  to  be  won  must  have  been  in  his  mind. 
Nobody,  so  far  as  we  are  aware,  has  ever  doubted  Sberidan's 
honesty  or  tbe  sincerity  of  his  political  opinions.  At  the 
same  time  it  can  scarcely  be  imagined  that  the  acquaint- 
ance of  Fox  and  Burke  had  not  a  large  share  in  determin- 
ing these  opinions,  and  that  other  hopes  and  wishes,  apart 
from  the  impulses  of  patriotism  and  public  spirit,  had  not 
much  to  do  in  turning  him  towards  a  course  of  life  so  little 
indicated  by  anything  in  its  beginning.  There  is  no  ap- 
pearance that  Sheridan  cared  very  much  for  literary  fame. 
His  taste  was  not  refined  nor  his  mind  highly  cultivated ; 
he  thought,  like  Byron  and  George  III.,  that  Shakspeare 
was  a  much  overrated  writer.  He  was  very  difficult  to 
please  in  his  own  diction,  and  elaborated  both  written  dia- 
logues and  spoken  speeches  with  the  most  anxious  care; 
but  fame  as  an  author  was  not  what  he  looked  for  or 
cared  for,  nor  would  such  a  reputation  have  answered  his 
purpose.  Social  success  was  what  he  aimed  at — he  want- 
ed to  be  among  the  first,  not  in  intellect,  but  in  fact ;  to 
win  bis  way  into  tbe  highest  elevation,  and  to  stand  there 
on  an  equality  with  whosoever  should  approach.  For  such 
a  fame  as  this  literature,  unaided,  can  do  but  little.  The 
days  of  patronage,  in  which  an  author  was  the  natural 
hanger-on  and  dependent  of  a  great  man,  are  not  so  dis- 
similar as  they  appear  to  our  own  ;  except  in  so  far  that 
the  patron  in  former  days  paid  a  more  just  equivalent  for 
the  distinction  which  his  famous  hanger-on   might  give 


iv.]  PUBLIC  LIFE.  121 

him.  In  modern  times  the  poet  who  is  content  to  swell 
the  train  of  a  great  family  and  get  himself  into  society  by 
that  means,  gets  a  very  precarious  footiug  in  the  enchant- 
ed circle,  and  is  never  recognised  as  one  of  the  fine  people 
who  gave  him  a  great  deal  of  vague  praise,  but  nothing 
else.  This  was  a  sort  of  favour  which  Sheridan  would 
never  have  brooked.  lie  had  made  that  clear  from  the 
beginning.  He  would  not  creep  into  favour  or  wait  for 
invitations  into  great  houses,  but  boldly  and  at  once  took 
the  initiative,  and  himself  invited  the  great  world,  and  be- 
came the  host  and  entertainer  of  persons  infinitely  more 
important  than  himself.  There  is  no  subject  on  which 
the  easy  morality  of  society  has  been  more  eloquent  than 
on  the  folly  of  the  artist  and  man  of  letters  who,  not  con- 
tent with  having  all  houses  thrown  open  to  him,  insists 
upon  entertaining  in  their  own  persons,  and  providing  for 
dukes  and  princes  what  can  be  but  a  feeble  imitation,  at 
the  best,  of  their  own  lordly  fare.  But  we  think  that  the 
sympathetic  reader,  when  he  looks  into  it,  will  find  many 
inducements  to  a  charitable  interpretation  of  such  seeming 
extravagance.  The  artist  is  received  everywhere;  he  is 
among,  but  not  of,  the  most  brilliant  assemblages,  perhaps 
even  he  lends  them  part  of  their  attractions ;  but  even  in 
the  very  stare  with  which  the  fine  ladies  and  fine  gentle- 
men contemplate  him  he  will  read  the  certainty  that  he  is 
a  spectacle,  a  thing  to  be  looked  at — but  not  one  of  them. 
In  his  own  house  the  balance  is  redressed,  and  he  holds 
his  fit  place.  Something  of  this  feeling,  perhaps,  was  in 
the  largeness  of  hospitality  with  which  Sir  Walter  Scott 
threw  open  his  doors,  a  magnanimous  yet  half-disdainful 
generosity,  as  who  should  say,  "If  you  will  stare,  come 
here  and  do  it,  where  I  am  your  superior  as  master  of  my 
house,  your  inferior  only  out  of  high  courtesy  and  honour 
0* 


122  RICHARD  BKINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

to  my  guest."  Sheridan  was  not  like  Scott,  but  lie  was 
a  proud  man.  And  it  pleased  Lis  sense  of  humour  that 
the  Duchess  of  Devonshire,  still  balancing  in  her  mind 
whether  she  should  receive  these  young  people,  should  be 
his  guest  instead,  and  have  the  grace  extended  to  her,  in- 
stead of  first  extending  it  to  him.  And  no  doubt  his  de- 
termination to  acquire  for  himself,  if  by  any  possibility  he 
could,  a  position  in  which  he  should  be  on  the  same  level 
as  the  greatest — not  admitted  on  sufferance,  but  an  indis- 
pensable part  of  society — had  something  to  do  with  the 
earnestness  with  which  he  threw  himself  into  public  life. 
The  origin  of  a  great  statesman  is  unimportant.  Power 
is  a  dazzling  cloak  which  covers  every  imperfection,  where- 
as fame  of  other  kinds  but  emphasizes  and  points  them 
out. 

This  is  by  no  means  to  say  that  Sheridan  had  no  higher 
meaning  in  his  political  life.  He  was  very  faithful  to  his 
party  and  to  Fox,  and  later  to  the  less  respectable  patron 
with  whom  his  name  is  associated,  with  little  reward  of 
any  kind.  But  he  was  not  an  enthusiast,  like  Burke, 
any  more  than  a  philosopher,  nor  was  his  patriotism  or 
his  character  worthy  to  be  named  along  with  those  of  that 
noble  and  unfortunate  politician,  with  whom  for  one  pe- 
riod of  their  lives  Sheridan  was  brought  into  a  sort  of 
rivalship.  Burke  was  at  all  times  a  leading  and  originat- 
ing spirit,  penetrating  the  surface  of  things;  Sheridan  a 
light-hearted  adventurer  in  politics  as  well  as  in  life,  with 
keen  perceptions  and  a  brilliant  way  of  now  and  then  hit- 
ting out  a  right  suggestion,  and  finding  often  a  fine  and 
effective  thing  to  say.  It  is  impossible,  however,  to  think 
of  him  as  influencing  public  opinion  in  any  great  or  last- 
ing way.  He  acted  on  the  great  stage  of  public  life,  on  a 
large  scale,  the  part  of  the  Horatios — nay,  let  us  say  the 


iv.]  PUBLIC  LIFE.  123 

Mercutios  of  the  theatre — sometimes  by  stress  of  circum- 
stances coming  to  the  front  with  a  noble  piece  of  rhetoric 
or  even  of  pure  poetry  to  deliver  once  in  a  way,  always 
giving  a  brilliancy  of  fine  costume  and  dazzle  and  glitter 
on  the  second  level.  If  the  motives  which  led  him  to  that 
greatest  of  arenas  were  not  solely  the  ardours  of  patriot- 
ism, they  were  not  the  meaner  stimulants  of  self-interest. 
lie  had  no  thought  of  making  his  fortune  out  of  his  coun- 
try ;  if  he  hoped  to  get  advancement  by  her,  and  honour, 
and  a  place  among  the  highest,  these  desires  were  at  least 
not  mercenary,  and  might  with  very  little  difficulty  be 
translated  into  that  which  is  still  considered  a  lofty  weak- 
ness— that  which  Milton  calls  the  last  infirmity  of  noble 
minds — a  desire  for  fame.  It  is  easy  to  make  this  pur- 
suit look  very  fine  and  dazzling:  it  may  be  mean  enough, 
on  the  other  hand. 

It  was  in  1780,  when  he  was  twenty-nine,  that  Sher- 
idan entered  Parliament.  It  was  his  pride  that  he  was  not 
brought  in  for  any  pocket  borough,  but  was  elected  by 
the  town  of  Stafford,  in  which  the  freemen  of  the  burgh 
had  the  privilege  of  choosing  their  member.  How  they 
exercised  that  choice — agreeably,  no  doubt,  to  themselves, 
and  very  much  so  to  the  candidate,  whose  path  was  thus 
extraordinarily  simplified — may  be  seen  in  the  account  of 
Sheridan's  election  expenses,  where  there  is  one  such  broad 
and  simple  entry  as  the  following :  "  248  Burgesses,  paid 
£5  5s.  each."  A  petition  against  his  return  and  that  of 
his  colleague  was  not  unnaturally  presented,  but  came  to 
nothing,  and  Sheridan's  first  speech  was  made  in  his  own 
defence.  It  was  not  a  very  successful  one.  The  House, 
attracted  by  his  reputation  in  other  scenes,  and  by  the 
name,  which  by  this  time  was  so  well  known  in  society, 
heard  him   "  with    particular  attention ;"    but  he,  whose 


124  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

future  appearances  were  to  carry  with  them  the  enthusi- 
astic applauses  of  the  most  difficult  audience  in  England, 
had  to  submit  to  the  force  of  ridicule,  which  he  himself 
so  often  and  so  brilliantly  applied  in  after  times,  and  to 
that  still  more  appalling  ordeal,  the  chill  attention  and 
disappointment  of  his  hearers.  He  is  said  to  have  rushed 
up  to  the  reporters'  gallery,  where  Woodfall  was  busy  with 
his  notes,  and  to  have  asked  his  opinion.  "  I  am  sorry  to 
say  I  do  not  think  this  is  your  line,"  said  that  candid 
friend  ;  "  you  had  much  better  have  stuck  to  your  former 
pursuits."  On  hearing  which  Sheridan  rested  his  head 
on  his  hands  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  vehemently 
exclaimed,  "  It  is  in  me,  however,  and,  by  G — ,  it  shall 
come  out !"  The  quiver  of  disappointment,  excitement, 
and  determination  in  this  outcry  is  very  characteristic. 
It  did  come  out,  and  that  at  no  very  great  interval,  as 
everybody  knows. 

Sheridan  entered  political  life  at  a  time  when  it  was 
full  of  commotion  and  conflict.  The  American  war  was 
in  full  progress,  kept  up  by  the  obstinacy  of  the  King 
and  the  subserviency  of  his  Ministers  against  almost  all 
the  better  feeling  of  England,  and  in  face  of  a  steadily 
increasing  opposition,  which  extended  from  statesmen  like 
Burke  and  Fox  down  to  the  other  extremity  of  society — 
to  the  Surrey  peasant  who  was  William  Cobbett's  father, 
and  who  "  would  not  have  suffered  his  best  friend  to 
drink  success  to  the  King's  arms."  Politics  were  excep- 
tionally keen  and  bitter,  since  they  were  in  a  great  meas- 
ure a  personal  conflict  between  a  small  number  of  men 
pitted  against  each  other — men  of  the  same  training,  po- 
sition, and  traditions,  but  split  into  two  hereditary  fac- 
tions, and  contending  fiercely  for  the  mastery — while  the 
nation  had  little  more  to  do  with  it  than  to  stand  at  a 


iv.]  PUBLIC  LIFE.  125 

distance  vaguely  looking  on,  with  no  power  of  action,  and 
even  an  imperfect  knowledge  of  the  proceedings  of  Par- 
liament, which  was  supposed  to  represent  and  certainly 
did  rule  them.  That  the  public  had  any  right  at  all  to 
a  knowledge  of  what  was  going  on  in  the  debates  of  the 
two  Houses,  was  but  a  recent  idea,  and  still  the  reports 
were  to  the  highest  degree  meagre  and  unsatisfactory ; 
while  the  expression  of  public  feeling  through  the  news- 
papers was  still  in  a  very  early  stage.  But  within  the 
narrow  circle  which  held  power,  and  which  also  held  the 
potential  criticism  which  is  the  soul  of  party  in  England, 
the  differences  of  opinion  were  heightened  by  personal 
emulations,  and  violent  oppositions  existed  between  men 
of  whom  we  find  a  difficulty  in  discovering  now  why  it 
was  that  they  did  not  work  continuously  side  by  side, 
instead  of,  with  spasmodic  changes,  in  separate  parties. 
There  were  points,  especially  in  respect  to  the  representa- 
tion of  the  people,  in  which  Pitt  was  more  liberal  than 
Fox ;  and  the  Whigs,  thenceforward  to  be  associated  with 
every  project  of  electoral  reform,  were  conservative  to  the 
highest  degree  in  this  respect,  and  defended  their  close 
boroughs  with  all  the  zeal  of  proprietorship.  In  1780, 
when  Sheridan  entered  Parliament,  the  King  took  an  ac- 
tive part  in  every  act  of  the  Government,  with  an  obedi- 
ent Minister  under  his  orders,  and  a  Parliament  filled  with 
dependents  and  pensioners.  No  appeal  to  the  country 
was  possible  in  those  days,  or  even  thought  of.  No  ap- 
peal, indeed,  was  possible  anywhere.  It  was  the  final  bat- 
tle-ground, where  every  combatant  had  his  antagonist,  and 
the  air  was  always  loud  with  cries  of  battle.  The  Whig 
party  had  it  very  much  at  heart  to  reduce  the  power  of 
the  Court,  and  clear  out  the  accumulated  corruptions  which 
stifled  wholesome  life  in  the  House  of  Commons ;  but  they 


126  RICHARD  BRIXSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

had  no  very  strong  desire  to  widen  the  franchise  or  admit 
the  mass  of  the  people  to  political  privileges.  Sheridan, 
indeed,  had  taken  part  along  with  Fox  during  that  very 
year  in  a  Reform  meeting  which  had  passed  certain  "  Res- 
olutions on  the  state  of  the  representation,"  advocating 
the  right  of  the  people  to  universal  suffrage  and  annual 
parliaments;  but  it  is  scarcely  possible  to  believe  that 
their  share  in  it  was  more  than  a  pleasantry.  "Always 
say  that  you  are  for  annual  parliaments  and  universal 
suffrage,  then  you  are  safe,"  Fox  is  reported  to  have  said, 
with,  no  doubt,  a  twinkle  in  his  eye ;  while  Burke  made 
merry  over  the  still  more  advanced  opinions  of  some  vis- 
ionary politicians,  "  who — founding  on  the  latter  words 
of  a  statute  of  Edward  III.  that  a  parliament  should  be 
holden  every  year  once,  and  more  often  if  need  be — were 
known  by  the  denomination  of  Oftener-if-need-bes."  "  For 
my  part,"  he  would  add,  "  I  am  an  Often er-if-need-be." 
Thus  the  statesmen  jested  at  their  ease,  very  sure  that 
nothing  would  come  of  it,  and  not  unwilling  to  amuse 
themselves  with  schemes  so  extravagant. 

Among  the  leaders  of  the  party  with  which  Sheridan 
threw  in  his  fortunes,  a  very  high,  perhaps  the  highest, 
place  was  held  by  Burke,  who  was  in  some  respects  like 
himself,  a  man  of  humble  origin,  with  none  of  the  digni- 
fied antecedents  possessed  by  the  others,  though  with  a 
genius  superior  to  them  all,  and  the  highest  oratorical 
powers :  the  countryman,  perhaps  the  model,  perhaps 
the  rival,  of  the  new  recruit  with  whom  he  had  so  many 
external  points  of  likeness.  It  is  curious  to  find  two 
such  men,  both  Irishmen,  both  in  the  higher  sense  of  the 
word  adventurers,  with  the  same  command  of  eloquence, 
at  the  head  of  a  great  English  political  party  at  the  same 
moment.     There  does  not  seem   ever  to  have  been  the 


iv.]  PUBLIC  LIFE.  127 

same  cordiality  of  friendship  between  them,  notwithstand- 
ing, or  perhaps  in  consequence  of,  the  similarity  of  their 
circumstances,  as  existed  between  each  of  them  and  the 
genial  and  gracious  Fox,  whose  lovableness  and  sweetness 
of  nature  seem  to  have  vanquished  every  heart,  and  kept 
an  atmosphere  of  pleasantness  about  him,  which  breathes 
through  every  page  in  which  he  is  named.  To  have  come 
at  once  into  the  close  companionship  of  such  men  as  these, 
to  be  permitted  to  share  their  counsels,  to  add  his  word  to 
theirs,  to  unite  with  them  in  all  their  undertakings,  and, 
dearest  joy  of  all,  to  fight  by  their  side  in  every  par- 
liamentary tumult,  and  defy  the  Tories  and  the  Fates 
along  with  them,  was  an  elevation  which  might  well 
have  turned  the  head  of  the  young  dramatist,  who  had 
so  little  right  to  expect  any  such  astonishing  advance- 
ment. 

And  the  firmament  all  around  this  keen  and  eager 
centre  was  gloomy  and  threatening — in  America  the  war 
advancing  to  that  stage  in  which  continuance  becomes  an 
impossibility,  and  a  climax  of  one  kind  or  another  must 
be  arrived  at — in  Ireland,  which  in  those  days  was  the 
Ireland  of  the  Protestant  ascendency,  the  reverse  of  every- 
thing that  calls  itself  Irish  now,  a  sort  of  chronic  semi- 
rebellion —  in  India,  where  the  Company  were  making 
their  conquests  and  forming  their  government  in  inde- 
pendence of  any  direct  imperial  control,  a  hundred  ques- 
tions arising  which  would  have  to  be  settled  ere  long — 
in  France,  the  gathering  of  the  Revolutionary  storm,  which 
was  soon  to  burst  and  affect  all  the  wTorld.  A  more  ex- 
citing outlook  could  not  be.  The  existing  generation  did 
not  perhaps  realise  the  crowding  in  of  troubles  from  every 
side  as  we  do,  to  whom  the  whole  panorama  is  rolled  out ; 
while  naturally  there  were  matters  which  we  take  very 


128  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

calmly,  as  knowing  them  to  Lave  passed  quite  innocuously 
over  the  great  vitality  of  England,  which  to  them  looked 
dangers  unspeakable.  But  we  need  not  attempt  to  enter 
here  into  that  detailed  narrative  of  the  political  life  of 
the  period  which  would  be  necessary  did  we  trace  Sher- 
idan through  every  debate  he  took  part  in,  and  every  polit- 
ical movement  in  which  he  was  engaged.  This  has  been 
recently  done  in  a  former  volume  of  this  series  with  a 
completeness  and  care  which  would  render  a  repeated 
effort  of  the  same  character  a  superfluity,  even  wrere  the 
writer  bold  enough  to  venture  upon  such  a  competition. 
The  political  surroundings  and  events  of  Burke's  public 
life  wrere  to  a  great  extent  those  of  Sheridan  also,  and  it 
would  be  almost  an  impertinence  to  retrace  the  ground 
which  Mr.  Morley  has  gone  over  so  thoroughly.  We  will 
therefore  confine  ourselves  to  an  indication  of  the  chief 
movements  in  which  Sheridan  was  personally  involved, 
and  in  which  his  impetuous  eloquence  produced  an  effect 
which  has  made  his  name  historical.  This  result  was  not 
immediately  attained;  but  it  is  evident  that  the  leaders 
of  the  party  must  have  very  soon  perceived  how  valuable 
a  recruit  the  young  member  for  Stafford  was,  since  he  was 
carried  with  them  into  office  after  little  more  than  two 
years  of  parliamentary  life,  in  the  short  accession  to  power 
of  the  Whig  party  after  the  fall  of  Lord  North.  What 
he  had  done  to  merit  this  speedy  elevation  it  is  difficult 
to  see.  He  was  made  one  of  the  under-secretaries  of  state 
in  the  Rockingham  Ministry,  and  had  to  all  appearance 
the  ball  at  his  foot.  The  feeling  entertained  on  this  sub- 
ject by  his  family,  watching  from  across  the  Channel  with 
much  agitation  of  hope  the  extraordinary  and  unaccount- 
able advance  he  was  making,  is  admirably  set  forth  in  the 
following  letter  from  his  brother : 


iv.]  PUBLIC  LIFE.  129 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  early  intelligence  concerning 
the  fate  of  the  Ministry,  and  give  you  joy  on  the  occasion,  notwith- 
standing your  sorrow  for  the  departure  of  the  good  Opposition.  I 
understand  very  well  what  you  mean  by  this  sorrow ;  but  as  you  may 
be  now  in  a  situation  in  which  you  may  obtain  some  substantial  ad- 
vantage to  yourself,  for  God's  sake  improve  the  opportunity  to  the 
utmost,  and  don't  let  dreams  of  empty  fame  (of  which  you  have  had 
enough  in  conscience)  carry  you  away  from  your  solid  interests.  I 
return  you  many  thanks  for  Fox's  letter — I  mean  for  your  intention 
to  make  him  write  one — for  as  your  good  intentions  always  satisfy 
your  conscience,rand  that  you  seem  to  think  the  carrying  of  them 
into  execution  to  be  a  mere  trifling  ceremony,  as  well  omitted  as  not, 
your  friends  must  always  take  the  will  for  the  deed.  I  will  forgive 
you,  however,  on  condition  that  you  will  for  once  in  your  life  consider 
that  though  the  will  alone  may  perfectly  satisfy  yourself,  your  friends 
would  be  a  little  more  gratified  if  they  were  sometimes  to  see  it  ac- 
companied by  the  deed — and  let  me  be  the  first  upon  whom  you  try 
the  experiment.  If  the  people  here  are  not  to  share  the  fate  of  their 
patrons,  but  are  suffered  to  continue  in  the  government  of  this  coun- 
try, I  believe  you  will  have  it  in  your  power,  as  I  am  certain  it  will 
be  in  your  inclination,  to  fortify  my  claims  upon  them,  by  recom- 
mendation from  your  side  of  the  water,  in  such  a  manner  as  to  in- 
sure to  me  what  I  have  a  right  to  expect  from  them,  but  of  which  I 
can  have  no  certainty  without  that  assistance.  I  wish  the  present 
people  may  continue  here,  because  I  certainly  have  claims  upon  them ; 

and  considering  the  footing  that  Lord  C and  Charles  Fox  are 

on,  a  recommendation  from  the  latter  would  now  have  every  weight; 
it  would  be  drawing  a  bill  upon  Government  here,  payable  at  sight, 
which  they  dare  not  protest.  So,  dear  Dick,  I  shall  rely  upon  you 
that  this  will  really  be  done ;  and,  to  confess  the  truth,  unless  it  be 
done,  and  speedily,  I  shall  be  completely  ruined." 

The  delightful  naivete  of  this  letter,  and  its  half-pro- 
voked tone  of  good  advice  and  superior  wisdom,  throws  a 
humorous  gleam  over  the  situation.  That  it  was  Sher- 
idan's bounden  duty  "  for  God's  sake  "  to  take  care  that 
no  foolish  ideas  should  prevent  him  from  securing  sub- 
stantial advantage  to  himself,  and  in  the  meantime  and 


130  RICHARD  BRIXSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

at  once  an  appointment  for  his  brother,  is  too  far  beyond 
question  to  be  discussed ;  but  the  writer  cannot  but  feel 
an  impatient  conviction  that  Dick  is  quite  capable  of  neg- 
lecting both  for  some  flummery  about  fame,  which  is 
really  almost  too  much  to  be  put  up  with.  Charles  Sher- 
idan got  his  appointment,  which  was  that  of  Secretary  of 
War  in  Ireland,  a  post  which  he  enjoyed  for  many  years. 
But  the  "substantial  advantage"  which  he  considered  it 
his  brother's  duty  to  secure  for  himself  never  came. 

Sheridan's  first  taste  of  the  sweets  of  office  was  a  very 
short  one.  The  Rockingham  Ministry  remained  in  but 
four  months,  during  which  time  they  succeeded  in  clear- 
ing away  a  considerable  portion  of  the  accumulated  un- 
cleanness  which  had  recently  neutralised  the  power  of 
the  House  of  Commons.  The  measures  passed  in  this 
brief  period  dealt  a  fatal  blow  at  that  overwhelming  in- 
fluence of  the  Crown  which  had  brought  about  so  many 
disasters,  and,  by  a  stern  cutting  off  of  the  means  of  cor- 
ruption, "  mark  the  date  when  the  direct  bribery  of  mem- 
bers absolutely  ceased,"  which  is  the  highest  praise.  But 
Lord  Rockingham  died,  and  Lord  Shelburne  succeeded 
him,  who  represented  but  one  side  of  the  party,  and  the 
withdrawal  of  Fox  from  the  Ministry  brought  Sheridan 
back — it  is  said  partly  against  his  own  judgment,  which 
says  all  the  more  for  his  fidelity  to  his  leader — into  the 
irresponsibility  and  unprofitableness  of  opposition.  The 
famous  Coalition,  which  came  into  being  a  year  later, 
restored  him  to  office  as  Secretary  of  the  Treasury. 
Sheridan  went  on  forming  his  style  as  a  political  speaker 
with  great  care  and  perseverance  through  all  these  vicissi- 
tudes. At  first  he  is  said  to  have  written  his  speeches  out 
carefully,  and  even  learnt  them  by  heart,  "  using  for  this 
purpose,"  Moore  tells  us, "  the  same  sort  of  copy-books 


it.]  PUBLIC  LIFE.  131 

which  he  had  employed  in  the  first  rough  draughts  of  his 
plays."  Afterwards  a  scribble  on  a  piece  of  paper  was 
enough  to  guide  him,  and  sometimes  it  is  very  evident  he 
made  a  telling  retort  or  a  bold  attack  without  preparation 
at  all.  One  of  these,  preserved  in  the  collection  of  his 
speeches,  has  a  vivid  gleam  of  restrained  excitement  and 
personal  feeling  in  it  which  gives  it  an  interest  more  hu- 
man than  political.  It  occurred  in  the  discussion  by  the 
House  of  the  preliminaries  of  the  treaty  afterwards  known 
as  the  Treaty  of  Versailles,  in  which  the  independence  of 
America  was  formally  recognized.  In  Sheridan's  speech 
on  the  subject  he  had  referred  pointedly  to  Pitt,  who  had 
become  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  in  Lord  Shelburne's 
Administration,  and  who  had  objected  to  something  in  a 
previous  debate  as  inconsistent  with  the  established  usage 
of  the  House.  "  This  convinced  him,"  Sheridan  said,  "  that 
the  right  honourable  gentleman  was  more  a  practical  pol- 
itician than  an  experienced  one,"  and  that  "  his  years  and 
his  very  early  political  exaltation  had  not  permitted  him 
to  look  whether  there  had  been  precedents,  or  to  acquire 
a  knowledge  of  the  journals  of  the  House."  Pitt  re- 
sented this  assault  upon  his  youth  as  every  young  man  is 
apt  to  do,  and  did  his  best  to  turn  the  war  into  the  enemy's 
camp.  Here  is  the  somewhat  ungenerous  assault  he  made 
— one,  however,  which  has  been  repeated  almost  as  often 
as  there  have  been  eminent  literary  men  in  public  life : 

"No  man  admired  more  than  he  did  the  abilities  of  that  right 
honourable  gentleman,  the  elegant  sallies  of  his  thought,  the  gay  effu- 
sions of  his  fancy,  his  dramatic  turns,  and  his  epigrammatic  points ; 
and  if  they  were  reserved  for  a  proper  stage,  they  would  no  doubt 
receive  what  the  honourable  gentleman's  abilities  always  did  receive, 
the  plaudits  of  the  audience;  and  it  would  be  his  fortune  ' sin plaiisu 
gavdere  theatric     But  this  was  not  the  proper  scene  for  the  exhibi- 


132  RICHARD  BRIXSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [crap. 

tion  of  these  elegancies  ;  and  he  therefore  must  beg  leave  to  call  the 
attention  of  the  House  to  the  serious  consideration  of  the  very  im- 
portant questions  now  before  them." 

This  unhandsome  reference  to  Sheridan's  theatrical 
fame  was  one  of  those  uncalled-for  and  unworthy  attacks 
which  give  the  person  assailed  an  enormous  advantage 
over  the  assailant;  and  Sheridan  was  quite  equal  to  the 
occasion : 

"Mr.  Sheridan  then  rose  to  an  explanation,  which  being  made,  he 
took  notice  of  that  particular  sort  of  personality  which  the  right 
honourable  gentleman  had  thought  proper  to  introduce.  He  need 
not  comment  upon  it — the  propriety,  the  taste,  the  gentlemanly  point 
of  it,  must  have  been  obvious  to  the  House.  But,  said  Mr.  Sheridan, 
let  me  assure  the  right  honourable  gentleman  that  I  do  now,  and 
will  at  any  time  when  he  chooses  to  repeat  this  sort  of  allusion,  meet 
it  with  the  most  sincere  good-humour.  Nay,  I  will  say  more:  flat- 
tered and  encouraged  by  the  right  honourable  gentleman's  panegyric 
on  my  talents,  if  I  ever  again  engage  in  the  compositions  he  alludes 
to,  I  may  be  tempted  to  an  act  of  presumption — to  attempt  an  im- 
provement on  one  of  Ben  Jonson's  best  characters — the  character 
of  the  Angry  Boy,  in  the  Alchymist."  l 

Apart  from  sparrings  of  this  description,  however,  in 
which  his  light  hand  and  touch  were  always  effective, 
Sheridan  gradually  proceeded  to  take  a  larger  part  in  the 
business  of  the  House,  his  speeches  being  full  of  energy, 
lucidity,  and  point,  as  well  as  of  unfailing  humour.  But 
it  was  not  till  the  celebrated  impeachment  of  Warren 
Hastings,  one  of  the  most  dramatic  episodes  in  parlia- 
mentary history,  that  he  rose  to  the  fulness  of  his  elo- 
quence and  power.  .VThe  story  of  that  episode  has  been 
often  told:  almost  more  often  and  more  fully  than  any 

1  This  threat  was  carried  out  by  the  issue  of  a  pretended  play-bill, 
in  which  not  only  was  the  part  of  the  Angry  Boy  allotted  to  Pitt,  but 
the  audacious  wit  proceeded  to  assign  that  of  Surly  to  "  His "  ! 


iv.J  PUBLIC  LIFE.  133 

other  chapter  of  modern  history ;  and  everybody  knows 
how  and  why  it  was  that — having  added  to  the  wealth 
of  his  chiefs  and  the  power  of  the  nation,  and  with  a  con- 
sciousness in  his  mind  of  having  done  much  to  open  up 
and  confirm  an  immense  new  empire  to  his  country — this 
Indian  ruler  and  lawgiver,  astonished,  found  himself  con- 
fronted by  the  indignation  of  all  that  was  best  and  great- 
est in  England,  and  ere  he  knew  was  placed  at  the  bar  to 
account  for  what  he  had  done,  the  treasures  he  had  ex- 
acted, and  the  oppressions  with  which  he  had  crushed  the 
native  states  and  their  rulers. 

"  Is  India  free  ?  and  does  she  wear  her  plumed 
And  jewelled  turban  with  a  smile  of  peace? 
Or  do  we  grind  her  still  ?" 

Cowper  had  said,  as  he  opened  his  scanty  newspaper  in 
the  fireside  quiet  at  Olney,  some  time  before.  The  man- 
ner in  which  such  a  prize  was  added  to  the  British  crown 
has  slipped  from  the  general  memory  nowadays,  and  we 
are  apt  to  forget  how  many  deeds  were  done  on  that  ar- 
gument that  would  not  bear  the  light  of  public  inquiry. 
But  this  great  trial  will  always  stand  as  a  proof  that  the 
time  had  arrived  in  the  history  of  England  when  she 
would  no  longer  tolerate  the  high-handed  proceedings  of 
the  conqueror,  and  that  even  national  aggrandisement  was 
not  a  strong  enough  inducement  to  make  her  overlook 
injustice  and  cruelty,  though  in  the  ends  of  the  earth. 

It  was  Burke  who  originated  the  idea  of  impeachment 
for  Warren  Hastings :  it  was  Pitt,  by  his  unexpected 
vote  with  the  accusing  party,  who  made  it  .practicable ; 
but  Sheridan  was  the  hero  of  the  occasion.// One  of  the 
worst  charges  against  Hastings  was  his  conduct  to  the 
princesses  of  Oude,  the  old  and  helpless  Begums  whom  he 


134  RICHARD  BRIXSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

imprisoned  and  ill-used  in  order  to  draw  from  them  their 
treasures ;  and  this  moving-  subject,  the  one  of  all  others 
best  adapted  for  him,  it  was  given  to  Sheridan  to  set  forth 
in  all  the  atrocity  of  its  circumstances,  and  with  all  the 
power  of  eloquent  indignation  of  which  he  was  master, 
before  the  House,  as  one  of  the  grounds  for  the  impeach- 
ment. The  speech  was  ill  reported,  and  has  not  been  pre- 
served in  a  form  which  does  it  justice,  but  we  have  such 
details  of  its  effect  as  have  rarely  been  laid  up  in  history. 
The  following  account,  corroborated  by  many  witnesses, 
is  taken  from  the  summary  given  at  the  head  of  the  ex- 
tracts from  this  oration  in  the  collection  of  Sheridan's 
speeches : 

"For  five  hours  and  a  half  Mr.  Sheridan  commanded  the  universal 
interest  and  admiration  of  the  House  (which,  from  the  expectation  of 
the  day,  was  uncommonly  crowded)  by  an  oration  of  almost  unexampled 
excellence,  uniting  the  most  convincing  closeness  and  accuracy  of 
argument  with  the  most  luminous  precision  and  perspicuity  of  lan- 
guage, and  alternately  giving  form  and  energy  to  truth  by  solid  and 
substantial  reasoning ;  and  enlightening  the  most  extensive  and  in- 
volved subjects  with  the  purest  clearness  of  logic  and  the  brightest 
splendours  of  rhetoric.  Every  prejudice,  every  prepossession,  was 
gradually  overcome  by  the  force  of  this  extraordinary  combination 
of  keen  but  liberal  discrimination ;  of  brilliant  yet  argumentative 
wit.  So  fascinated  were  the  auditors  by  his  eloquence,  that  when 
Mr.  Sheridan  sat  down  the  whole  House — the  members,  peers,  and 
strangers — involuntarily  joined  in  a  tumult  of  applause,  and  adopted 
a  mode  of  expressing  their  admiration,  new  and  irregular  in  the 
House,  by  loudly  and  repeatedly  clapping  with  their  hands.  Mr. 
Burke  declared  it  to  be  the  most  astonishing  effort  of  eloquence, 
argument,  and  wit  united  of  which  there  was  any  record  or  tradition. 
Mr.  Fox  said,  'All  that  he  had  ever  heard— all  that  he  had  ever  read 
— when  compared  with  it  dwindled  into  nothing,  and  vanished  like 
vapour  before  the  sun.'  Mr.  Pitt  acknowledged  that  it  surpassed  all 
the  eloquence  of  ancient  or  of  modern  times,  and  possessed  every- 
thing that  genius  or  art  could  furnish  to  agitate  and  control  the  hu- 


iv,]  PUBLIC  LIFE.  135 

man  mind.  The  effects  it  produced  were  proportioned  to  its  merits. 
After  a  considerable  suspension  of  the  debate,  one  of  the  friends  of 
Mr.  Hastings — Mr.  Burgess — with  some  difficulty  obtained  for  a  short 
time  a  hearing ;  but,  finding  the  House  too  strongly  affected  by  what 
they  had  heard  to  listen  to  him  with  favour,  sat  down  again.  Sev- 
eral members  confessed  they  had  come  down  strongly  prepossessed  in 
favour  of  the  person  accused,  and  imagined  nothing  less  than  a  mir- 
acle could  have  wrought  so  entire  a  revolution  in  their  sentiments. 
Others  declared  that  though  they  could  not  resist  the  conviction  that 
flashed  upon  their  minds,  yet  they  wished  to  have  leave  to  cool  before 
they  were  called  upon  to  vote ;  and  though  they  were  persuaded  it 
would  require  another  miracle  to  produce'  another  change  in  their 
opinions,  yet  for  the  sake  of  decorum  they  thought  it  proper  that  the 
debate  should  be  adjourned.  Mr.  Fox  and  Mr.  A.  Taylor  strongly  op- 
posed this  proposition,  contending  that  it  was  not  less  absurd  than 
unparliamentary  to  defer  coming  to  a  vote  for  no  other  reason  than 
had  been  alleged,  than  because  members  were  too  firmly  convinced  ; 
but  Mr.  Pitt  concurring  with  the  opinions  of  the  former,  the  debate 
was  adjourned." 

What  Pitt  said  was,  that  they  were  all  still  "  under  the 
wand  of  the  enchanter ;"  while  other  members  individually 
made  similar  acknowledgments.  "  Sir  William  Dalton  im- 
mediately moved  an  adjournment,  confessing  that  in  the 
state  of  mind  in  which  Mr.  Sheridan's  speech  had  left 
him  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  give  a  determinate  opin- 
ion." That  great  audience,  the  most  difficult,  the  most 
important  in  Christendom,  was  overwhelmed  like  ®  com- 
pany of  sympathetic  women  by  the  quick  communicating 
thrill  of  intellectual  excitement,  of  generous  ardour,  of 
wonder,  terror,  pity.  It  was  like  a  fine  intoxication  which 
nobody  could  resist.  Here  is  another  amusing  instance  of 
the  influence  it  exercised : 

"  The  late  Mr.  Logan  .  .  .  author  of  a  most  masterly  defence  of  Mr. 
Hastings,  went  that  day  to  the  House  of  Commons  prepossessed  for 
the  accused,  and  against  the  accuser.     At  the  expiration  of  the  first 


136  RICHARD  BRLXSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

hour  be  said  to  a  friend, '  All  this  is  declamatory  assertion  without 
proof ;'  when  the  second  was  finished,  '  This  is  a  most  wonderful  ora- 
tion.' At  the  close  of  the  third, '  Mr.  Hastings  has  acted  most  un- 
justifiably;' the  fourth,  'Mr.  Hastings  is  a  most  atrocious  criminal;' 
and  at  last, '  Of  all  monsters  of  iniquity,  the  most  enormous  is  War- 
ren Hastings !' " 

It  was  no  wonder  if  the  astonished  members,  with  a 
feeling-  that  this  transformation  was  a  kind  of  magic,  un- 
accountable by  any  ordinary  rule,  were  afraid  of  them- 
selves, and  dared  not  venture  on  any  practical  step  until 
they  had  cooled  down  a  little.  It  is  the  most  remarkable 
instance  on  record  m  modern  times  of  the  amazing  power 
of  oratory.  The  public  interest  had  flagged  in  the  matter, 
notwithstanding  the  vehement  addresses  of  Burke,  but  it 
awoke  with  a  leap  of  excitement  at  this  magic  touch  ;  and 
when,  some  months  later,  the  trial  took  place,  according  to 
an  old  and  long-disused  formula,  in  Westminster  Hall,  the 
whole  world  flocked  to  listen.  Macaulay  has  painted  the 
scene  for  us  in  one  of  his  most  picturesque  pages.  The 
noble  hall  full  of  noble  people ;  the  peers  in  their  ermine ; 
the  judges  in  their  red  robes  ;  the  grey  old  walls  hung 
with  scarlet ;  the  wonderful  audience  in  the  galleries ;  the 
Queen  herself,  with  all  her  ladies,  among  them  the  lively, 
weary,  little  frizzled  head  with  so  much  in  it,  of  Fanny 
Burney,  prejudiced  yet  impressionable,  looking  over  her 
Majesty's  shoulder ;  and  such  faces  as  those  of  the  lovely 
Duchess  of  Devonshire,  the  haughty  beauty  of  Mrs.  Fitz- 
herbert,  the  half-angelic  sweetness  of  Sheridan's  wife,  with 
many  another  less  known  to  fame,  and  all  the  men  whose 
names  confer  a  glory  on  their  age.  "  In  the  midst  of  the 
blaze  of  red  draperies  an  open  space  had  been  fitted  up 
with  green  benches  and  tables  for  the  Commons."  The 
great  commoners  who  conducted  the  prosecution,  the  man- 


iv. J  PUBLIC  LIFE.  137 

agers  of  the  impeachment,  as  they  were  called,  appeared  in 
full  dress,  even  Fox,  the  negligent,  "  paying  the  illustrious 
tribunal  the  compliment  of  wearing  a  bag  and  sword." 
Amidst  these  public  prosecutors  the  two  kindred  forms  of 
Burke  and  Sheridan,  both  with  a  certain  bluntness  of  feat- 
ure which  indicated  their  race,  the  latter  at  least,  with 
those  brilliant  eyes  which  are  so  often  the  mark  of  genius, 
were  the  principal  figures. 

This  wonderful  scene  lasted  for  months ;  and  it  may  be 
supposed  what  an  exciting  entertainment  was  thus  provided 
for  society,  ever  anxious  for  a  new  sensation.  Burke 
spoke  for  four  days,  and  with  great  effect.  But  it  was 
when  it  came  to  the  turn  of  Sheridan  to  repeat  his  won- 
derful effort,  and  once  more  plead  the  cause  of  the  robbed 
and  insulted  princesses,  that  public  excitement  rose  to  its 
height.  "  The  curiosity  of  the  public  to  hear  him  was  un- 
bounded. His  sparkling  and  highly  finished  declamation 
lasted  two  days ;  but  the  hall  was  crowded  to  suffocation 
the  whole  time.  It  was  said  that  fifty  guineas  had  been 
paid  for  a  single  ticket."  His  speech,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
extended  over  four  days,  and  the  trial,  which  had  begun  in 
February,  had  lasted  out  till  June,  dragging  its  slow  length 
along,  when  it  came  to  this  climax.  Many  of  his  col- 
leagues considered  this  speech  greatly  inferior  to  the  first 
outburst  of  eloquence  on  the  same  subject  with  which 
he  had  electrified  the  House  of  Commons.  "  Sheridan's 
speech  on  the  Begums  in  the  House  admirable ;  in  West- 
minster Hall  contemptible,"  Lord  Granville  said,  and  such 
was  also  the  opinion  of  Fox.  But  a  greater  than  either 
was  of  a  different  opinion.  In  the  sitting  of  the  House 
held  on  the  6th  of  June,  after  an  exciting  morning  spent 
in  Westminster  Hall,  a  certain  Mr.  Burgess,  the  same  per- 
tinacious person  who  had  risen  to  speak  in  favour  of  Hast- 
7 


13S  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

ings,  while  still  St.  Stephens  was  resounding  with  applause 
and  inarticulate  with  emotion  on  the  day  of  Sheridan's 
first  speech,  got  up  once  more,  while  all  minds  were  again 
occupied  by  the  same  subject,  to  call  the  attention  of  the 
House  to  some  small  matter  of  finance.  He  was  trans- 
fixed immediately  by  the  spear  of  Burke.  "  He  could  not 
avoid  offerino-  his  warmest  congratulations  to  the  honour- 
able  gentleman  on  his  having  chosen  that  glorious  day, 
after  the  triumph  of  the  morning,  to  bring  forward  a  busi- 
ness of  such  an  important  nature,"  cried  the  great  orator 
with  contemptuous  sarcasm  ;  and  he  went  on  to  applaud 
the  powerful  mind  of  the  stolid  partisan  who  had  proved 
himself  capable  of  such  an  effort,  "  after  every  other  mem- 
ber had  been  struck  dumb  with  astonishment  and  admira- 
tion at  the  wonderful  eloquence  of  his  friend,  Mr.  Sher- 
idan, who  had  that  day  again  surprised  the  thousands  who 
hung  with  rapture  on  his  accents,  by  such  a  display  of 
talents  as  was  unparalleled  in  the  annals  of  oratory,  and  so 
did  the  highest  honour  to  himself,  to  that  House,  and  to 
the  country." 

The  reader  will  be  perhaps  more  interested,  in  this 
deluge  of  applause,  to  hear  how  the  wife — of  whom  per- 
haps Sheridan  was  not  worthy,  yet  who  was  not  herself 
without  blame,  a  susceptible  creature,  with  a  fine  nature 
always  showing  under  the  levities  and  excitements  that 
circumstances  had  made  natural  to  her — exulted  in  his 
triumph : 

"  I  have  delayed  writing  [the  letter  is  to  her  sister-in-law]  till  I 
could  gratify  myself  and  you  by  sending  you  the  news  of  our  dear 
Dick's  triumph — of  our  triumph,  I  may  call  it — for  surely  no  one  in 
the  slightest  degree  connected  with  him  but  must  feel  proud  and 
happy.  It  is  impossible,  my  dear  woman,  to  convey  to  you  the  de- 
light, the  astonishment,  the  adoration,  he  has  excited  in  the  breasts 


it.]  PUBLIC  LIFE.  139 

of  every  class  of  people.  Every  party  prejudice  has  been  overcome 
by  a  display  of  genius,  eloquence,  and  goodness,  which  no  one  with 
anything  like  a  heart  about  them  could  have  listened  to  without  be- 
ing the  wiser  and  the  better  all  the  rest  of  their  lives.  What  must 
my  feelings  be,  you  only  can  imagine.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  it  is 
with  some  difficulty  that  I  can  '  let  down  my  mind,'  as  Mr.  Burke 
said  afterwards,  to  talk  or  think  on  that  or  any  other  subject.  But 
pleasure  too  exquisite  becomes  pain,  and  I  am  at  this  moment  suf- 
fering from  the  delightful  anxieties  of  last  week." 

This  triumph,  however,  like  Sheridan's  previous  suc- 
cesses, would  seem  to  have  been  won  by  a  fit  of  accidental 
exertion  ;  for  it  was  still  as  difficult  as  ever  to  keep  him 
in  harness  and  secure  his  attention.  A  letter  quoted  in 
Moore's  life  from  Burke  to  Mrs.  Sheridan  makes  the  diffi- 
culty very  apparent.  The  great  statesman  begins  by  skil- 
ful praise  of  Sheridan's  abilities  to  propitiate  his  wife; 
and  then  implores  Mrs.  Sheridan's  aid  in  "prevailing  upon 
Mr.  Sheridan  to  be  with  us  this  day  at  half  after  three  in 
the  Committee."  The  paymaster  of  Oude  was  to  be  ex- 
amined, he  adds,  with  anxious  emphasis :  "  Oude  is  Mr. 
Sheridan's  particular  province ;  and  I  do  most  seriously 
ask  that  he  would  favour  us  with  his  assistance."  This 
proves  how  little  he  was  to  be  relied  upon,  even  now,  in 
the  very  moment  of  triumph.  Yet  on  the  very  next  page 
we  read  of  the  elaborate  manner  in  which  his  speech  was 
prepared,  and  of  the  exertions  of  his  domestic  helpers  in 
arranging  and  classifying  his  materials ;  and  he  seems 
from  Moore's  account  to  have  laboured  indefatigably  to 
acquire  the  necessary  knowledge  : 

"There  is  a  large  pamphlet  of  Mr.  Hastings,"  Moore  tells  us, 
"  consisting  of  more  than  two  hundred  pages,  copied  out  mostly  in 
her  (Mrs.  Sheridan's)  writing,  with  some  assistance  from  another 
female  hand.  The  industry,  indeed,  of  all  about  him  was  called  into 
requisition  for  the  great  occasion :  some  busy  with  the  pen  and  scis- 


4 


HO  RICHARD  BRLNSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

sors  making  extracts,  some  pasting  and  stitching  his  scattered  mem- 
orandums in  their  places,  so  that  there  was  scarcely  a  member  of 
his  family  that  could  not  boast  of  having  contributed  his  share  to 
the  mechanical  construction  of  this  speech.  The  pride  of  its  suc- 
cess was,  of  course,  equally  participated ;  and  Edwards,  a  favorite 
servant  of  Mr.  Sheridan,  was  long  celebrated  for  his  professed  imi- 
tation of  the  manner  in  which  his  master  delivered  (what  seems  to 
have  struck  Edwards  as  the  finest  part  of  the  speech)  his  closing 
words, '  My  Lords,  I  have  done.'  " 

Macaulay  informs  us  that  Sheridan  "  contrived,  with  a 
knowledge  of  stage  effect  which  his  father  might  have  en- 
vied, to  sink  back  as  if  exhausted  into  the  arms  of  Burke, 
who  hugged  him  with  the  energy  of  generous  admiration," 
when  the  speech  was  done. 

In  every  way  this  was  the  highest  point  of  Sheridan's 
career.  Engaged  in  the  greatest  work  to  which  civilised 
man  can  turn  his  best  faculties,  the  government  of  his 
country,  either  potentially  or  by  criticism,  censure,  and  the 
restraining  power  of  opposition,  he  had  made  his  way  with- 
out previous  training,  or  any  adventitious  circumstances  in 
his  favour,  to  the  very  front  rank  of  statesmen.  When 
wrong  was  to  be  chastised  and  right  established  he  was 
one  of  the  foremost  in  the  work.  His  party  did  nothing 
without  him  ;  his  irregular  ways,  the  difficulty  which  there 
was  even  in  getting  him  to  attend  a  meeting,  were  all 
overlooked.  Rather  would  the  Whig  leaders  invent,  like 
the  proprietors  of  the  theatre  in  former  days,  a  snare  in 
which  to  take  him,  or  plead  with  his  wife  for  her  assist- 
ance, than  do  without  Sheridan.  This  was  what  the  play- 
er's son,  the  dramatist  and  stage-manager,  who  was  no- 
body without  education,  without  fortune,  had  come  to. 
lie  was  thirty-seven  when  he  stood  upon  this  apex  of  ap- 
plause and  honour — al  mezzo  di  cammin  dl  nostra  vita. 
Had  he  died  then,  the  wonder  of  his  fame  and  greatness 


it.]  PUBLIC  LIFE.  HI 

would  have  been  lessened  by  no  painful  drawback.  If 
lie  were  extravagant,  reckless,  given  to  the  easier  vices, 
so  were  other  men  of  his  generation  —  and  pecuniary 
embarrassment  only  becomes  appalling  when  it  reaches 
the  stage  of  actual  want,  and  when  squalor  and  misery 
follow  in  its  train.  We  linger  upon  the  picture  of  these 
triumphs — triumphs  as  legitimate,  as  noble,  and  worthy 
as  ever  man  won — in  which,  if  perhaps  there  wras  no 
such  enthusiasm  of  generous  sentiment  as  moved  Burke, 
there  was  at  least  the  sincere  movement  of  a  more  vol- 
atile nature  against  cruelty  and  injustice.  It  does  not 
in  reality  enhance  the  greatness  of  a  mental  effort  that  it 
is  made  in  the  cause  of  humanity,  but  it  enormously  in- 
creases its  weight  and  influence  with  mankind.  And  it 
was  an  extraordinary  piece  of  good-fortune  for  Sheridan, 
in  a  career  made  up  hitherto  of  happy  hits  and  splendid 
pieces  of  luck,  that  he  should  happily  have  lighted  upon 
a  subject  for  his  greatest  effort,  which  should  not  only  af- 
ford scope  for  all  his  gifts,  his  impulsive  generosity  and 
tender-heartedness,  as  well,  we  may  add,  as  that  tendency 
to  clap-trap  and  inflated  diction  which  is  almost  always 
successful  with  the  multitude  —  but  at  the  same  time 
should  secure  for  himself  as  the  magnanimous  advocate  a 
large  share  in  that  sympathy  of  the  audience  for  the  help- 
less and  injured,  which  his  eloquence  raised  into  tempo- 
rary passion.  His  subject,  his  oratorical  power,  the  real 
enthusiasm  which  inspired  him,  even  if  that  enthusiasm 
took  fire  at  its  own  flame,  and  was  more  on  account  of 
Brinsley  Sheridan  than  of  the  Begums,  all  helped  in  the 
magical  effect.  Even  poor  Mrs.  Sheridan,  who  knew  bet- 
ter than  any  one  wherein  the  orator  was  defective,  exulted 
in  his  triumph  as  "  a  display  of  genius,  and  eloquence,  and 
goodness."     He  was  the  champion  of  humanity,  the  de- 


142  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

fender  of  the  weak  and  helpless.  No  doubt,  in  the  glow 
of  interest  in  his  own  subject  to  which  he  had  worked 
himself  up,  he  felt  all  this  more  fervently  even  than  his 
audience,  which  again  added  infinitely  to  his  power. 

The  trial  came  to  nothing,  as  everybody  knows.  It  lin- 
gered over  years  of  tedious  discussion,  and  through  worlds 
of  wearisome  verbiage,  and  only  got  decided  in  1795,  when 
the  accused,  whose  sins  by  this  time  had  been  half  forgot- 
ten, whose  foolish  plans  for  himself  were  altogether  out  of 
mind,  and  whose  good  qualities  had  come  round  again  to 
the  recollection  of  the  world,  was  acquitted.  By  that  time 
the  breaking  up  of  the  party  which  had  brought  him  to 
the  bar,  so  touchingly  described  by  Maeaulay,  had  come  to 
pass ;  and  though  Sheridan  still  held  by  Fox,  Burke  had 
fallen  apart  from  them  both  for  ever.  Professor  Smyth, 
in  his  valuable  little  Memoir  of  Sheridan,  gives  a  descrip- 
tion of  the  orator's  preparation  for  the  postscriptal  speech 
which  he  had  to  deliver  six  years  after,  in  1794,  in  answer 
to  the  pleas  of  Hastings's  counsel,  which  is  very  character- 
istic. Sheridan  arrived  suddenly  one  evening  at  the  coun- 
try residence  where  his  son  Tom  was  staying  with  Smyth, 
the  tutor — with  his  chaise  full  of  papers — and  announced 
his  intention  of  getting  through  them  all,  and  being  ready 
with  his  reply  the  day  after  to-morrow.  "  The  day  after 
to-morrow  !  this  day  six  months  you  mean,"  cried  Smyth, 
in  consternation.  Altogether  Sheridan  would  seem  to  have 
taken  five  or  six  days  to  this  trying  work,  recalling  the 
recollection  of  his  highest  triumph,  and  refreshing  his 
memory  as  to  the  facts,  after  a  long  and  sad  interval,  filled 
with  many  misfortunes  and  downfalls.  He  never  stirred 
"  out  of  his  room  for  three  days  and  evenings,  and  each 
of  the  three  nights,  till  the  motes,  he  told  me,  were  com- 
ing into  his  eyes,  though  the  strongest  and  finest  that  ever 


iv.]  PUBLIC  LIFE.  143 

man  was  blest  with,"  Smyth  informs  us.  He  dined  every 
day  with  the  tutor  and  Tom,  the  bright  and  delightful  boy 
who  was  a  sweeter  and  more  innocent  reproduction  of 
himself ;  and  during  these  meals  Smyth  found  that  it  was 
his  part  to  listen,  "making  a  slight  occasional  comment 
on  what  he  told  me  he  had  been  doing  " : 

"  On  the  morning  appointed  be  went  off  early  in  a  chaise-and-four 
to  Grosvenor  Street,  and  none  of  us,  Tom  told  me,  were  to  come 
near  him  till  the  speech  was  over.  When  he  came  into  the  man- 
ager's box  he  was  in  full  dress,  and  his  countenance  bad  assumed 
an  ashen  colour  that  I  had  never  before  observed.  No  doubt  Cicero 
himself  must  have  quailed  before  so  immense  and  magnificent  an 
audience  as  was  now  assembled  to  hear  him.  He  was  evidently  tried 
to  the  utmost,  every  nerve  and  faculty  within  him  put  into  complete 
requisition." 

No  doubt  Sheridan  felt  the  ghost  of  his  own  glory  ris- 
ing up  as  a  rival  to  him  in  this  renewed  and  so  changed 
appearance.  The  tutor  felt  that  "  his  aspect  was  that  of 
a  perfect  orator,  and  thought  he  was  listening  to  some 
being  of  a  totally  different  nature  from  himself ;"  but  this 
postscriptal  harangue  has  had  no  record  of  fame.  And  al- 
ready the  leaf  was  turned  over,  the  dark  side  of  life  come 
upward,  and  Sheridan's  glory  on  the  wane. 


CHAPTER  V. 


MIDDLE   AGE. 


The  middle  of  life  is  the  testing-ground  of  character  and 
strength.  There  are  many  who  hold  a  foremost  place  in 
the  heat  of  youth,  but  sink  behind  when  that  first  energy 
is  played  out;  and  there  are  many  whose  follies  happily 
die,  and  whose  true  strength  is  only  known  when  serious 
existence  with  its  weights  and  responsibilities  comes  upon 
them.  Many  are  the  revelations  of  this  sober  age.  Sins 
which  were  but  venial  in  the  boy  grow  fatal  in  the  man. 
The  easy  indolence,  the  careless  good-fellowship,  the  rol- 
licking humour  which  we  laugh  at  while  we  condemn 
them  in  youth,  become  coarser,  vulgarer,  meaner  in  ma- 
turity, and  acquire  a  character  of  selfishness  and  brutality 
which  was  not  theirs  in  the  time  of  hope.  In  Sheridan's 
age,  above  all  others,  the  sins  of  a  Charles  Surface  were 
easily  pardoned  to  a  young  man.  He  was  better  liked  for 
being  something  of  a  rake ;  his  prodigality  and  neglect  of 
all  prudent  precautions,  his  rashness  in  every  enterprise, 
his  headlong  career,  which  it  was  always  believed  some- 
thing might  turn  up  to  guide  into  a  better  development 
at  the  end,  were  proofs  of  the  generosity  and  truth  of  a 
character  concealing  nothing.  All  this  was  natural  at  five- 
and-twenty.  But  at  thirty-five,  and  still  more  at  forty, 
the   world  gets   weary   of   Charles   Surface.     His   light- 


chap,  v.]  MIDDLE  AGE.  145 

heartedness  becomes  -want  of  feeling — bis  rasbness  un- 
manly folly — his  sbortcomings  are  everywhere  judged  by 
a  different  standard ;  and  the  middle-aged  man,  whom 
neither  regard  for  his  honour,  his  duty,  nor  his  family  can 
curb  and  restrain,  who  takes  his  own  way,  whoever  suffers, 
and  is  continually  playing  at  the  highest  stakes  for  mere 
life,  is  deserted  by  public  opinion,  and  can  be  defended 
by  his  friends  with  only  faltering  excuses.  Sheridan  had 
been  such  a  man  in  his  youth.  He  had  dared  everything, 
and  won  much  from  fate.  Without  a  penny  to  begin  with, 
or  any  of  that  capital  of  industry,  perseverance,  and  deter- 
mination which  serves  instead  of  money,  he  got  possession 
of  and  enjoyed  all  the  luxuries  of  wealth.  He  did  more 
than  this :  he  became  one  of  the  leading  names  in  Eng- 
land, foremost  on  imperial  occasions,  and  known  wher- 
ever news  of  England  was  prized  or  read ;  and  through 
all  his  earlier  years  the  world  had  laughed  at  his  shifts, 
his  hair-breadth  escapes,  the  carejess  prodigality  of  nature, 
which  made  it  certain  that  by  a  sudden  and  violent  effort 
at  the  end  he  could  always  make  up  for  all  deficiencies. 
It  wTas  a  jest  that 

"  Of  wit,  of  taste,  of  fancy,  we'll  debate, 
If  Sheridan  for  once  be  not  too  late." 

And  in  the  artificial  world  of  the  theatre  the  recklessness 
of  the  man  and  all  his  eccentricities  had  something  in 
them  which  suited  that  abode  of  strong  contrasts  and 
effects.  But  after  a  course  of  years  the  world  began  to 
get  tired  of  always  waiting  for  Sheridan,  always  finding 
that  he  had  forgotten  his  word  and  his  appointments,  and 
never  read,  much  less  answered,  his  letters.  There  came  a 
moment  when  everybody  with  one  accord  ceased  and  even 
refused  to  be  amused  by  these  eccentricities  any  longer, 


14G  RICHARD  BRIXSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

and  found  them  to  be  stale  jests,  insolences,  and  charac- 
terised by  a  selfish  disregard  of  everybody's  comfort  but 
his  own. 

This  natural  protest  no  doubt  was  accompanied  by  a 
gradual  development  of  all  that  was  most  insupportable 
in  Sheridan's  nature.  The  entire  absence  in  him  of  the 
faculty  of  self-control  grew  with  his  advancing  years  ;  but 
it  was  not  till  Providence  had  interposed  and  deprived 
him  of  the  wife  who,  in  her  sweet  imperfection,  had  yet 
done  much  for  him,  that  any  serious  change  happened 
in  his  fortunes.  lie  lost  his  father  in  1788,  very  shortly 
after  his  great  triumph.  There  is  no  very  evident  sign 
that  Thomas  Sheridan  ever  changed  his  mind  in  respect 
to  his  sons,  or  ceased  to  prefer  the  prim  and  prudent 
Charles,  who  had  bidden  his  brother  not  to  be  so  fool- 
ishly moved  by  thoughts  of  fame  as  to  neglect  the  substan- 
tial advantages  which  office  might  ensure  to  him.  But  it 
was  Richard  who  attended  upon  the  old  man's  death-bed, 
moved  with  an  almost  excessive  filial  devotion  and  regret, 
and  buried  him,  and  intended  to  place  a  fine  inscription 
over  him,  written  by  no  hand  but  that  of  Dr.  Parr,  the 
best  of  scholars.  It  was  never  done ;  but  Charles  Sher- 
idan (who  was  present,  howrever,  neither  at  the  sick-bed 
nor  the  grave)  had  already  intimated  the  conviction  of 
the  family  that  in  Dick's  case  the  will  had  to  be  taken 
for  the  deed.  This  loss,  however,  was  little  to  the  greater 
blow  which  he  suffered  a  few  years  later.  Mrs.  Sheridan 
is  one  of  those  characters  who,  without  doing  anything  to 
make  themselves  remarkable,  yet  leave  a  certain  fragrance 
behind  them  as  of  something  fine,  and  tender,  and  delicate. 
The  reader  will  remember  the  letter  referred  to  in  the  first 
chapter,  in  which  she  recounts  her  early  troubles  to  her 
sympathising  friend,  a  pretty  and  sentimental  composition, 


v.]  MIDDLE  AGE.  147 

with  a  touch  of  Evelina  (who  was  the  young  lady's  con- 
temporary) in  its  confidences,  and  still  more  of  Lydia 
Languish,  whose  prototype  she  might  well  have  been. 
And  there  is  a  certain  reflection  of  Lydia  Languish 
throughout  her  life,  softened  by  the  cessation  of  senti- 
mental dilemmas,  but  never  without  a  turn  for  the  ro- 
mantic. That  she  was  a  good  wife  to  Sheridan  there 
seems  little  doubt :  the  accounts  of  the  theatre  kept  in 
her  handwriting,  the  long  and  careful  extracts  made  and 
information  prepared  by  her  to  help  him — even  the  ap- 
peals to  her  on  every  side,  from  her  father,  anxious  about 
the  theatre  and  its  business,  up  to  Mr.  Burke,  in  the  larger 
political  sphere,  all  confident  that  she  would  be  able  to 
do  what  nobody  else  could  do,  keep  Sheridan  to  an  ap- 
pointment— show  wThat  her  office  was  between  him  and 
the  world.  Within  doors,  of  all  characters  for  the  reck- 
less wit  to  enact,  he  was  the  Falkland  of  his  own  drama, 
maddening  a  more  hapless  Julia,  driving  her  a  hundred 
times  out  of  patience  and  out  of  heart  with  innumerable 
suspicions,  jealousies,  harassments  of  every  kind.  And  no 
man  who  lived  the  life  he  was  livi^f,  with  the  most  riot- 
ous company  of  the  time,  could  be  a  very  good  husband. 
He  left  her  to  go  into  society  alone,  in  all  her  beauty  and 
charm — the  St.  Cecilia  of  many  worshippers — still  elegant, 
lovely,  and  sentimental,  an  involuntary  siren,  accustomed 
to  homage,  and  perhaps  liking  it  a  little,  as  most  people, 
even  the  wisest,  do.  There  could  be  no  want  of  tenderness 
to  her  husband  in  the  woman  who  wTrote  the  letter  of  hap- 
py pride  and  adoration  quoted  in  the  last  chapter ;  and 
yet  she  was  not  herself  untouched  by  scandal,  and  it  was 
whispered  that  a  young,  handsome,  romantic  Irishman,  in 
all  the  glory  of  national  enthusiasm,  and  with  the  shadow 
of  tragedy  already  upon  him,  had  moved  her  heart.     It  is 


148  RICHARD  BRIXSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

not  necessary  to  enter  into  any  such  vague  and  shadowy 
tale.  No  permanent  alienation  appears  to  have  ever  arisen 
between  her  and  her  husband,  though  there  were  many 
painful  scenes,  consequent  upon  the  too  finely  -  strung 
nerves,  which  is  often  another  name  for  irritability  and 
impatience,  of  both.  Sheridan's  sister,  who  lived  in  his 
house  for  a  short  time  after  her  father's  death,  gives 
us  a  most  charming  picture  of  this  sweet  and  attractive 
woman : 

"I  have  been  here  almost  a  week  in  perfect  quiet.  While  there 
was  company  in  the  house  I  stayed  in  my  room,  and  since  my 
brother's  leaving  us  for  Margate  I  have  sat  at  times  with  Mrs. 
Sheridan,  who  is  kind  and  considerate,  so  that  I  have  entire  liberty. 
Her  poor  sister's  children  are  all  with  her.  The  girl  gives  her  con- 
stant employment,  and  seems  to  profit  by  being  under  so  good  an 
instructor.  Their  father  was  here  for  some  days,  but  I  did  not  see 
him.  Last  night  Mrs.  S.  showed  me  a  picture  of  Mrs.  Tickell,  which 
she  wears  round  her  neck.  .  .  .  Dick  is  still  in  town,  and  we  do  not 
expect  him  for  some  time.  Mrs.  Sheridan  seems  now  quite  recon- 
ciled to  those  little  absences  which  she  knows  are  unavoidable.  I 
never  saw  any  one  so  constant  in  employing  every  moment  of  her 
time,  and  to  that  I  attribute,  in  a  great  measure,  the  recovery  of  her 
health  and  spirits.  The  education  of  her  niece,  her  music,  books,  and 
work  occupy  every  moment  of  the  day.  After  dinner  the  children, 
who  call  her  mamma-aunt,  spend  some  time  with  us,  and  her  manner 
to  them  is  truly  delightful." 

Mrs.  Tickell  was  Mrs.  Sheridan's  younger  sister,  and 
died  just  a  year  before  her.  In  the  mean  time  she  had 
taken  immediate  charge  of  Tickell's  motherless  children, 
and  the  pretty  "copy  of  verses"  which  she  dedicated  to 
her  sister's  memory  embellishes  and  throws  light  upon 
her  own : 

"  The  hours,  the  days  pass  on ;  sweet  spring  returns, 
And  whispers  comfort  to  the  heart  that  mourns ; 


v.]  MIDDLE  AGE.  149 

But  not  to  mine,  whose  dear  and  cherished  grief 

Asks  for  indulgence,  but  ne'er  hopes  relief. 

For,  oh !  can  changing  seasons  e'er  restore 

The  loved  companion  I  must  still  deplore  ? 

Shall  all  the  wisdom  of  the  world  combined 

Erase  thy  image,  Mary,  from  my  mind, 

Or  bid  me  hope  from  others  to  receive 

The  fond  affection  thou  alone  could'st  give  ? 

Ah  no  !  my  best  belov'd,  thou  still  shalt  be 

My  friend,  my  sister,  all  the  world  to  me. 
******* 

Oh  !  if  the  soul  released  from  mortal  cares 

Views  the  sad  scene,  the  voice  of  mourning  hears, 

Then,  dearest  saint,  did'st  thou  thy  heaven  forego, 

Lingering  on  earth,  in  pity  to  our  woe ; 

'Twas  thy  kind  influence  soothed  our  minds  to  peace, 

And  bade  our  vain  and  selfish  murmurs  cease. 

'Twas  thy  soft  smile  that  gave  the  worshipped  clay 

Of  thy  bright  essence  one  celestial  ray, 

Making  e'en  death  so  beautiful  that  we, 

Gazing  on  it,  forgot  our  misery. 

Then— pleasing  thought !— ere  to  the  realms  of  light 

Thy  franchised  spirit  took  its  happy  flight, 

With  fond  regard  perhaps  thou  saw'st  me  bend 

O'er  the  cold  relics  of  my  heart's  best  friend ; 

And  heard'st  me  swear,  while  her  dear  hand  I  prest, 

And  tears  of  agony  bedew'd  my  breast, 

For  her  loved  sake  to  act  the  mother's  part, 

And  take  her  darling  infants  to  my  heart, 

With  tenderest  care  their  youthful  minds  improve, 

And  guard  her  treasure  with  protecting  love. 

Once  more  look  down,  bless'd  creature,  and  behold 

These  arms  the  precious  innocents  enfold. 

Assist  my  erring  nature  to  fulfil 

The  sacred  trust  and  ward  off  every  ill ; 

And  oh !  let  her  who  is  my  dearest  care 

Thy  bless'd  regard  and  heavenly  influence  share. 

Teach  me  to  form  her  pure  and  artless  mind 

Like  thine,  as  true,  as  innocent,  as  kind, 


150  RICHARD  BRIXSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

That  when  some  future  day  my  hopes  shall  bless, 
And  every  voice  her  virtue  shall  express, 
When  my  fond  heart  delighted  hears  her  praise, 
As  with  unconscious  loveliness  she  strays, 
Such,  let  me  say,  with  tears  of  joy  the  while, 
Such  was  the  softness  of  my  Mary's  smile ; 
Such  was  her  youth,  so  blithe,  so  rosy-sweet, 
And  such  her  mind,  unpractised  in  deceit ; 
With  artless  eloquence,  unstudied  grace, 
Thus  did  she  gain  in  every  heart  a  place. 
Then,  while  the  dear  remembrance  I  behold, 
Time  shall  steal  on,  nor  tell  me  I  am  old, 
Till  nature  wearied,  each  fond  duty  o'er, 
I  join  my  angel  friend  to  part  no  more  I" 

There  is  something  extremely  sweet  and  touching  in 
these  lines,  with  their  faded  elegance,  their  pretty  senti- 
ment, the  touch  of  the  rococo  in  them  which  has  now 
recovered  popular  favour,  something  between  poetry  and 
embroidery,  and  the  most  tender  feminine  feeling.  All" 
sorts  of  pretty  things  were  said  of  this  gentle  woman  in 
her  day.  Jackson  of  Exeter,  the  musician,  who  had  some 
professional  engagements  with  her  father,  and  accompanied 
her  often  in  her  songs,  said  that  "  to  see  her,  as  she  stood 
singing  beside  him  at  the  pianoforte,  was  like  looking 
into  the  face  of  an  angel."  Another  still  higher  authority, 
the  Bishop  of  Norwich,  described  her  as  "  the  connecting 
link  between  woman  and  angel."  To  Wilkes,  the  coarse 
and  wild  yet  woman  -  loving  demagogue,  she  was  "the 
most  modest  flower  he  had  ever  seen."  Sir  Joshua  \ 
painted  her  as  St.  Cecilia,  and  this  was  the  flattering  name 
by  which  she  was  known.  Her  letters,  with  a  good  deal 
of  haste,  and  the  faintest  note  of  flippancy  in  them,  are 
pretty  too,  full  of  news  and  society,  and  the  card-tables 
at  which  she  lost  her  monev,  and  the  children  in  whom 


v.]  MIDDLE  AGE.  151 

her  real  heart  was  centred.  The  romantic  girl  had  grown 
into  a  woman,  not  lofty  or  great,  but  sweet  and  clever, 
and  silly  and  generous — a  fascinating  creature.  Moore 
describes,  with  a  comical,  high-flown  incongruity  which  re- 
minds us  of  Mr.  Micawber,  her  various  qualities,  the  intel- 
lect which  could  appreciate  the  talents  of  her  husband, 
the  feminine  sensibility  that  could  passionately  feel  his 
success.  "  Mrs.  Sheridan  may  well  take  her  place  beside 
these  Roman  wives,"  he  says;  "not  only  did  Calpurnia 
sympathise  with  the  glory  of  her  husband  abroad,  but  she 
could  also,  like  Mrs.  Sheridan,  add  a  charm  to  his  talents 
at  home,  by  setting  his  verses  to  music  and  singing  them 
to  her  harp."  Poor  Siren !  she  had  her  triumphs,  but 
she  had  her  troubles  also,  many  and  sore.  In  Professor 
Smyth's  little  book  there  is  an  account  of  a  scene  which, 
though  it  happened  after  her  death,  throws  some  light 
upon  one  side  of  her  troubled  existence.  Smyth  had 
been  engaged  as  tutor  to  Tom  after  his  mother's  death, 
and  this  was  one  of  the  interferences  which  he  had  to 
submit  to.  Sheridan  had  been  paying  a  hurried  visit  to 
the  house  at  Wanstead  in  which  Tom  and  his  tutor  lived : 

"  It  was  a  severe  frost,  and  had  been  long,  when  he  came  one 
evening  to  dine,  after  his  usual  manner,  on  a  boiled  chicken,  at  7,  8, 
or  9  o'clock,  just  as  it  happened,  and  had  hardly  drunk  his  claret, 
and  got  the  room  filled  with  wax  lights,  without  which  he  could  not 
exist,  when  he  sent  for  me ;  and,  lo  and  behold !  the  business  was 
that  he  was  miserable  on  account  of  Tom's  being  on  the  ice,  that  he 
would  certainly  be  drowned,  etc.,  and  that  he  begged  it  of  me  as  the 
greatest  favour  I  could  do  him  in  some  way  or  other  to  prevent  it. 
I  expostulated  with  him — that  I  skated  myself — that  I  had  a  servant 
with  a  rope  and  ladder  at  the  bank — that  the  ice  would  now  bear  a 
wagon,  etc.,  etc. ;  and  at  last,  seeing  me  grow  half  angry  at  his  un- 
reasonableness, he  acquiesced  in  what  I  said,  and  calling  his  carriage, 
as  he  must  be  at  Drury  Lane  that  night,  he  said  (it  was  then  eleven, 


152  RICHAED  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN,  [chap. 

and  he  was  nine  miles  off),  he  withdrew.  In  about  half  an  hour  after- 
wards, as  I  was  going  to  bed,  I  heard  a  violent  ringing  at  the  gate ; 
I  was  wanted ;  and  sure  enough  what  should  I  see,  glaring  through 
the  bars,  and  outshining  the  lamps  of  the  carriage,  but  the  fine  eyes 
of  Sheridan.  '  Now,  do  not  laugh  at  me,  Smyth,'  he  said, '  but  I  can- 
not rest  or  think  of  anything  but  this  d — d  ice  and  this  skating,  and 
you  must  promise  me  there  shall  be  no  more  of  it.'  I  said  what  may 
be  supposed ;  and  in  short  was  at  last  obliged  to  thrust  my  hand 
through  the  bars,  which  he  shook  violently,  in  token  that  his  wishes 
should  be  obeyed.  'Never  was  such  a  nonsensical  person  as  this 
father  of  yours,'  said  I  to  Tom.  There  was  no  difficulty  in  coming 
to  a  common  vote  on  that  point ;  and  so,  after  spending  nearly  an 
hour  abusing  him,  half  laughing  and  half  crying,  for  I  was  as  fond 
of  skating  as  my  pupil  could  be,  lamenting  our  unhappy  fate,  we 
went  to  bed.  We  sent  up  various  petitions  and  remonstrances  while 
the  frost  lasted,  but  all  in  vain.  '  Have  a  glass  case  constructed  for 
your  son  at  once,'  said  Mr.  Grey  to  him — an  observation  which  Tom 
used  to  quote  to  me  with  particular  approbation  and  delight.  I 
talked  over  the  subject  of  Mr.  Sheridan  and  his  idle  nervousness 
with  Mrs.  Canning,  who  lived  at  the  end  of  the  village.  She  told  me 
that  nothing  could  be  done — that  he  would  tease  and  irritate  Mrs. 
Sheridan  in  this  manner  till  she  was  ready  to  dash  her  head  against 
the  wall,  being  of  the  same  temperament  of  genius  as  her  husband ; 
that  she  had  seen  her  burst  into  tears  and  leave  the  room ;  then 
the  scene  changed,  and  the  wall  seemed  full  as  likely  to  receive  his 
head  in  turn.  The  folly,  however,  Mrs.  Canning  said,  was  not  merely 
once  and  away,  but  was  too  often  repeated ;  and  Mrs.  Canning  used 
sometimes,  as  she  told  me,  to  be  not  a  little  thankful  that  she  was 
herself  of  a  more  ordinary  clay,  and  that  the  gods,  as  in  the  case  of 
Audrey,  had  not  made  her  poetical." 

This  perhaps  is  the  least  comprehensible  part  of  Sher- 
idan's character.  The  combination  of  this  self-tormentor, 
endowed  with  a  faculty  for  extracting  annoyance  and 
trouble  out  of  every  new  turn  in  his  circumstances,  and 
persecuting  those  who  were  dearest  to  him  by  his  caprices, 
with  the  reckless  and  careless  man  of  pleasure,  is  curious, 
and  difficult  to  realise. 


v.]  MIDDLE  AGE.  153 

Mrs.  Sheridan  died  in  1792.  She  had  been  taken  to 
Bristol,  in  hopes  that  the  change  of  air  would  do  her 
good.  But  her  time  had  come,  and  there  was  no  hope 
for  her.  Her  husband  attended  her  with  all  the  tender- 
ness and  anxiety  which  a  man,  no  doubt  remorseful,  always 
impressionable,  and  ready  to  be  moved  by  the  sight,  which 
was  intolerable  to  him,  of  suffering,  might  be  supposed 
to  feel,  watching  over  her  with  the  profoundest  devotion. 
"He  cannot  bear  to  think  her  in  danger,"  writes  a  sym- 
pathetic friend,  "or  that  any  one  else  should;  though  he 
is  as  attentive  and  watchful  as  if  he  expected  every  mo- 
ment to  be  her  last.  It  is  impossible  for  any  man  to 
behave  with  greater  tenderness  or  to  feel  more  on  such 
an  occasion."  He  was  at  her  bedside  night  and  day, 
"  and  never  left  her  one  moment  that  could  be  avoided." 
The  crisis  was  one  in  which,  with  his  readiness  of  emotion 
and  quick  and  sure  response  to  all  that  touched  him,  he 
was  sure  to  appear  well.  Moore  found,  among  the  mass 
of  documents  through  which  he  had  to  pick  his  way,  a 
scrap  of  paper  evidently  belonging  to  this  period,  which 
gives  strange  expression  to  that  realistic  and  materialistic 
horror  of  death  as  death,  which  was  one  of  the  features  of 
the  time :  "  The  loss  of  the  breath  from  a  beloved  object 
long  suffering  in  pain  and  certainty  to  die  is  not  so  great 
a  privation  as  the  last  loss  of  her  beautiful  remains,  if  they 
remain  so.  The  victory  of  the  grave  is  sharper  than  the 
sting  of  death."  There  is  something  in  this  sentiment 
which  makes  us  shudder.  That  crowning  pang  of  sep- 
aration— 

"  Our  lives  have  fallen  so  far  apart, 

We  cannot  hear  each  other  speak  " — 

does  not  strike  this  mourner.     The  contact  of  the  body 
and  deca}^,  the  loss  of  "  the  beautiful  remains,"  is  what 


154  RICHARD  BRIXSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

moves  him.  It  is  like  a  child's  primitive  horror  of  the 
black  box  and  the  deep  hole.  In  his  own  dying  hour  an 
awe  unspeakable  stole  over  his  face  when  he  was  informed 
that  a  clergyman  had  been  sent  for.  These  were  things 
to  be  held  at  arm's-length;  when  he  was  compulsorily 
brought  in  contact  with  them  the  terror  was  almost 
greater  than  the  anguish. 

The  Linley  family  had  suffered  terribly  in  these  years, 
one  following  another  to  the  grave.  There  is  a  most 
touching  description  of  the  father  given  by  the  actress 
Mrs.  Crouch  which  goes  direct  to  the  heart : 

"After  Miss  Marion  Linley  died  it  was  melancholy  for  her  to  sing 
to  Mr.  Linley,  whose  tears  continually  fell  on  the  keys  as  he  accom- 
panied her ;  and  if  in  the  course  of  her  profession  she  was  obliged 
to  practise  a  song  which  he  had  been  accustomed  to  hear  his  lost 
daughter  sing,  the  similarity  of  their  manner  and  voices,  which  he 
had  once  remarked  with  pleasure,  then  affected  him  to  such  a  degree 
that  he  was  frequently  forced  to  quit  his  instrument  and  walk  about 
the  room  to  recover  his  composure." 

After  his  wife's  death  Sheridan's  life  assumed  another 
phase.  He  had  no  longer  the  anchor,  such  as  it  was,  which 
steadied  him — not  even  the  tug  of  remorse  to  bring  him 
home  to  a  house  where  there  was  now  no  one  waiting  for 
him.  We  are  indebted  to  Professor  Smyth's  narrative  for 
a  very  graphic  description  of  this  portion  of  Sheridan's 
life.  In  the  very  formation  of  their  connection  the  pecu- 
liarities of  his  future  employer  were  at  once  made  known 
to  him.  It  was  appointed  that  he  should  meet  Sheridan 
at  dinner  in  town,  to  conclude  the  arrangement  about  the 
tutorship,  and  to  keep  this  appointment  he  came  up  spe- 
cially from  the  country.  The  dinner-hour  was  seven,  but 
at  nine  Smyth  and  the  friend  who  was  to  introduce  him 
ate  their  cold  meal  without  Sheridan,  who  then  sent  to  say 


v.]  MIDDLE  AGE.  155 

that  he  had  been  detained  at  the  House,  but  would  sup 
with  them  at  midnight  at  the  St.  Alban's  Tavern,  whither 
they  resorted,  with  precisely  the  same  result.  Next  day, 
however,  the  meeting  did  take  place,  and  the  ruffled  soul 
of  the  young  scholar,  who  had  been  extremely  indignant 
to  find  himself  thus  treated,  was  soothed  in  a  few  minutes 
by  the  engaging  manner  and  delightful  speech  of  his 
patron.  It  was  at  Isleworth,  Sheridan's  country  house, 
that  they  met,  where  very  lately  Madame  de  Genlis,  that 
interesting  and  sentimental  refugee,  with  her  lovely  daugh- 
ter, Pamela,  the  beautiful  young  creature  whom  Mrs. 
Sheridan  had  bidden  Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald  to  marry 
when  she  died,  had  paid  him  a  visit.  The  house  was  dirty 
and  desolate,  the  young  observer  thought,  but  the  master 
of  it  the  most  captivating  of  men.  His  brilliant  and  ex- 
pressive eyes,  a  certain  modesty  in  his  manner,  for  which 
the  young  Don  was  not  prepared,  struck  Smyth  above  all ; 
and  he  in  his  turn  pleased  the  nervous  and  troubled 
father,  who  would  have  kept  young  Tom  in  a  glass  case 
had  he  dared.  Afterwards  another  house  was  taken  in 
Wanstead,  in  order  that  Sheridan's  baby  daughter  might 
be  placed  under  the  charge  of  Mrs.  Canning,  the  lady  who 
had  nursed  Mrs.  Sheridan  and  loved  her,  and  who  lived  in 
this  village ;  and  here  the  boy  and  his  tutor  were  sent. 
But  a  very  short  time  after  another  blow  fell  upon  Sher- 
idan in  the  person  of  this  child,  whom  Professor  Smyth 
describes  as  the  loveliest  child  he  ever  saw — an  exceptional 
creature,  whom  Sheridan  made  a  little  goddess  of,  worship- 
ping her  with  every  baby  rite  that  could  be  thought  of. 
One  night  the  house  had  awoke  to  unwonted  merriment; 
a  large  childish  party  filled  the  rooms,  and  dancing  was 
going  on  merrily,  when  Mrs.  Canning  suddenly  flung  open 
the  door,  crying  out,  "The  child — the  child  is  dying!" 


156  RICHARD  BRLXSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

Sheridan's  grief  was  intense  and  overwhelming ;  it  was 
piteous  to  hear  his  moans  daring  the  terrible  night  that 
followed.  His  warm-hearted,  emotional  being,  horrified 
and  panic-stricken  by  the  approach  of  death,  was  once 
more  altogether  overwhelmed.  The  cruel  climax  of  blow 
after  blow  crushed  him  to  the  earth. 

During  this  time  his  parliamentary  life  was  going  on, 
with  interruptions,  sometimes  brightening  into  flashes  of 
his  pristine  brilliancy.  But  at  this  moment  there  were 
other  troubles,  besides  those  of  his  home  and  heart,  to 
make  his  attendance  irregular  and  withdraw  his  thoughts 
from  public  affairs.  How  the  theatre  had  been  going  on 
all  this  time  it  is  difficult  to  make  out.  We  are  told  of 
endless  embarrassments,  difficulties,  and  trouble,  of  a  treas- 
ury emptied  wantonly,  and  actors  left  without  their  pay — 
of  pieces  which  failed,  and  audiences  which  diminished. 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  we  are  informed  that  the  pros- 
perity of  Drury  Lane  never  was  greater  than  during  this 
period,  while  the  old  theatre  lasted  ;  and,  as  it  was  the 
only  source  from  which  Sheridan  drew  his  income,  it  is 
very  evident  that,  notwithstanding  all  irregularities,  broken 
promises,  crowds  of  duns,  and  general  mismanagement, 
there  was  an  unfailing  fountain  of  money  to  be  drawn 
upon.  The  whole  story  is  confused.  We  are  sometimes 
told  that  he  was  himself  the  manager,  and  it  is  certain  that 
now  and  then  he  stooped  even  so  far  as  to  arrange  a  pan- 
tomime ;  while  at  the  same  time  we  find  the  theatre  un- 
der the  management  of  King  at  one  time,  of  Kemble  at 
another — men  much  better  qualified  than  Sheridan.  The 
mere  fact,  indeed,  that  the  Kemble  family  was  at  that  time 
on  the  boards  of  Drury  Lane  would  seem  a  sufficient  proof 
of  the  success  of  the  theatre  ;  but  the  continually  recurring 
discovery  that    the  proprietor's  pressing  necessities   had 


v.]  MIDDLE  AGE. 

cleared  the  treasury  altogether  was  little  likely  to  keep  the 
troupe  together  or  inspire  its  efforts.  When  any  influential 
member  of  the  company  became  unmanageable  on  this 
score  Sheridan's  persuasive  talent  was  called  in  to  make 
all  right.  Once,  we  are  told,  Mrs.  Siddons,  who  had  de- 
clared that  she  would  not  act  until  her  salary  was  paid, 
who  had  resisted  successively  the  eloquent  appeals  of  her 
colleagues  and  the  despair  of  the  manager,  and  was  calmly 
sewing  at  home  after  the  curtain  had  risen  for  the  piece 
in  which  she  was  expected  to  perform,  yielded  helplessly 
when  Sheridan  himself,  all  suave  and  irresistible,  came  on 
the  scene,  and  suffered  herself  to  be  driven  to  the  theatre 
like  a  lamb.  On  another  occasion  it  was  Kemble  that 
rebelled.  "We  are  tempted  to  quote,  for  its  extremely 
ludicrous  character,  this  droll  little  scene.  Sheridan  had 
come  in  accidentally  to  join  the  party  in  the  greenroom 
after  the  performance,  and,  taking  his  seat  at  the  table, 
made,  as  usual,  a  cheerful  beoinnino;  of  conversation. 
Kemble,  however,  would  make  no  reply : 

"  The  great  actor  now  looked  unutterable  things,  and  occasionally 
emitted  a  humming  sound  like  that  of  a  bee,  and  groaned  in  spirit 
inwardly.  A  considerable  time  elapsed,  and  frequent  repetitions  of 
the  sound,  when  at  length,  like  a  pillar  of  state,  up  rose  Kemble, 
and  in  these  words  addressed  the  astonished  proprietor :  '  I  am  an 
Eagle,  whose  wings  have  been  bound  down  by  frosts  and  snows, 
but  now  I  shake  my  pinions  and  cleave  into  the  genial  air  into  which 
I  was  born !'  He  then  deliberately  resumed  his  seat,  as  if  he  had 
relieved  himself  from  unsupportable  thraldom." 

Undaunted  by  this  solemn  address,  Sheridan  drew  his 
chair  closer,  and  at  the  end  of  the  prolonged  sitting  left 
the  place — not  too  steadily,  it  is  to  be  feared — arm-in-arm 
with  the  exasperated  eagle,  whom  he  had  made  as  mild 
as  any  mouse.     He  did  many  feats  of  the  same  kind. 


158  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

Once,  the  bankers  having  sternly  resisted  all  blandish- 
ments of  manager,  treasurer,  all  the  staff  of  the  theatre, 
Sheridan  went  in  gaily  to  the  charge,  and  returned  in  a 
few  minutes,  beaming  and  successful,  with  the  money  they 
wanted.  "When  he  chose  nobody  could  stand  against 
him. 

Poor  Mr.  Smyth  had  a  terrible  life  of  it  with  this  dis- 
orderly patron.  His  letters  were  neglected,  his  appoint- 
ments broken,  his  salary  left  unpaid.  Once  his  pupil  Tom 
was  sent  for  in  hot  haste  to  meet  his  father  at  a  certain 
roadside  inn,  and  there  waited  for  days  if  not  weeks  in 
vain  expectation  of  his  errant  parent,  leaving  the  unfortu- 
nate preceptor  a  prey  to  all  kinds  of  anxiety.  Another 
time  the  long-suffering  Smyth  was  left  at  Bognor,  with  an 
old  servant,  Martha,  without  money  or  occupation,  wait- 
ing for  a  summons  to  London  which  never  came ;  and, 
unable  at  last  to  live  any  longer  on  credit,  after  letters  in- 
numerable of  entreaty,  protestation,  and  wrath,  went  up  to 
London,  full  of  fury,  determined  to  endure  no  more ;  but 
was  met  by  Sheridan  with  such  cordial  pleasure,  surprise 
that  he  had  not  come  sooner,  and  satisfaction  w7ith  his 
appearance  nowr — since  Tom  was  getting  into  all  sorts  of 
mischief — that  the  angry  tutor  was  entirely  vanquished, 
and  remorseful  when  he  thought  of  the  furious  letter  he 
had  sent  to  this  kind  friend.  What  followed  is  worth 
quoting : 

" '  I  wrote  you  a  letter  lately,'  I  said ;  '  it  was  an  angry  one.  You 
will  be  so  good  as  to  think  no  more  of  it.'  '  Oh,  certainly  not,  my 
dear  Smyth,'  he  said ;  '  I  shall  never  think  of  what  you  have  said  in 
it,  be  assured ;'  and,  putting  his  hand  in  his  pocket, '  Here  it  is,'  he 
said,  offering  it  to  me.  I  was  glad  enough  to  get  hold  of  it ;  but  look- 
ing at  it  as  I  was  about  to  throw  it  into  the  fire,  lo  and  behold,  I  saw 
that  it  had  never  been  opened  !" 


v.]  MIDDLE  AGE.  159 

Such  exasperating  yet  ludicrous  incidents  were  now  com- 
monplaces of  Sheridan's  life.  "  Intercourse  with  him,"  says 
Professor  Smyth,  in  a  harsher  mood,  moved  by  some  sting 
of  bitter  recollection,  "  was  one  eternal  insult,  mortification, 
and  disappointment."  There  was  a  bag  on  his  table  into 
which  all  letters  were  stuffed  indiscriminately,  and  in  which, 
when  it  was  turned  out,  an  astonished  applicant  for  debt 
or  favour  might  see  a  succession  of  his  own  letters  as  he 
sent  them,  with  not  one  seal  broken ;  but,  to  lessen  the 
mortification,  would  find  also  letters  enclosing  money  sent 
in  answer  to  Sheridan's  own  urgent  applications,  turned 
out  in  the  same  condition,  having  been  stuffed  with  the 
rest  into  that  hopeless  waste  heap.  When  Professor  Smyth 
appealed  to  Sheridan's  old  servant  to  know  if  nothing 
could  be  done  to  remedy  this,  Edwards  told  him  a  piteous 
story  of  how  he  had  found  Mr.  Sheridan's  window,  which 
rattled,  wedged  up  with  bank-notes,  which  the  muddled 
reveller,  returning  late  at  night,  had  stuffed  into  the  gap- 
ing sash  out  of  his  pocket.  The  story  altogether  is  laugh- 
able and  pitiful,  a  tragic  comedy  of  the  most  wroful  fool- 
ing. He  had  no  longer  youth  enough  to  warrant  an  easy 
laugh ;  his  reputation  was  going  from  him.  He  was  har- 
assed by  endless  creditors  and  duns,  not  able  to  stir  out 
of  his  house  without  encountering  two  or  three  waiting  to 
waylay  him.  The  first  of  these,  if  he  caught  Sheridan  at 
a  moment  when  his  pocket  had  just  been  replenished, 
would  get  the  amount  of  his  bill  in  full,  whatever  the 
others  might  have  to  say.  The  stories  are  endless  which 
deal  with  these  embarrassments,  and  the  shifts  and  devices 
of  the  struggling  man  were  endless  also.  They  are  very 
ridiculous  to  hear  of  ;  but  how  humiliating,  miserable,  and 
sickening  to  the  heart  and  mind  all  these  repetitions  must 
have  been  !     And  then,  to  make  everything  worse,  the 


160  RICHARD  BRIXSLEY  SHERIDAX.  [chap. 

poor  old  theatre  fell  to  pieces,  and  the  taste  of  the  day 
demanded  a  costly  and  luxurious  new  building,  accord- 
ing to  improved  fashions.  The  money  to  do  this  was 
raised  by  the  manufacture  of  new  shares,  in  which  there 
was  no  difficulty — but  which  naturally  restricted  the  after 
profits  of  the  original  proprietors.  And,  what  was  still 
more  serious,  the  interval  occupied  in  the  rebuilding — 
during  which  time  their  profits  may  be  said  to  have  ceased 
altogether — and  the  excess  of  the  cost  over  the  estimate, 
made  an  enormous  difference  to  men  who  had  no  reserve 
to  fall  back  upon.  The  company  in  the  meantime  played 
in  a  small  theatre,  at  great  expense,  and  Sheridan,  profuse 
and  lavish,  unable  to  retrench,  not  wise  enough  even  to 
attempt  retrenchment,  got  deeper  and  deeper  into  debt 
and  embarrassment. 

Besides  all  these  misadventures  a  new  and  malign  influ- 
ence now  got  possession  of  him.  He  had  been  presented 
to  the  young  Prince  of  Wales,  at  a  time  when  that  illus- 
trious personage  was  still  little  more  than  a  boy,  and  full, 
it  was  believed,  of  promise  and  hopefulness,  and  had  grad- 
ually grown  to  be  one  of  the  most  intimate  habitues  of  his 
society,  a  devoted  retainer,  adviser,  and  defender,  holding 
by  him  in  all  circumstances,  and  sharing  the  irregularities 
of  his  life,  and  the  horse-play  of  his  amusements.  The 
Octogenarian,  from  whose  rather  foolish  book  we  have 
occasionally  quoted,  gives  a  tissue  of  absurd  stories,  pro- 
fessedly heard  from  Sheridan's  own  lips,  in  which  the  ad- 
ventures of  a  night  are  recorded,  and  the  heir-apparent  is 
represented  to  us,  in  company  with  two  statesmen,  as  all 
but  locked  up  for  the  night  at  a  police-station.  Whether 
this  was  true  or  not,  it  is  certain  that  the  glamour  which 
there  is  in  the  rank  of  a  royal  personage,  that  dazzlement 
which  so  few  can  resist,  fell  upon  Sheridan.     His  action 


v.]  ■    MIDDLE  AGE.  #  161 

as  the  adviser  and  representative  in  Parliament  of  this  un- 
illustnous  Prince  was  dignified  and  sensible;  but  the  orgies 
of  Carlton  House  were,  unfortunately,  too  much  in  Sher- 
idan's way  to  be  restrained  or  discountenanced  by  him,  and 
so  much  hope  and  possibility  as  remained  in  his  life  were 
lost  in  the  vulgar  dissipations  of  this  depraved  secondary 
court,  and  in  the  poor  vanity  of  becoming  boon  compan- 
ion and  buffoon  to  that  first  gentleman  in  Europe,  whose 
florid  and  padded  comeliness  was  the  admiration  of  his 
day.  It  was  a  poor  end  for  the  great  dramatist,  who  has 
kept  thousands  of  his  countryfolk  in  genial,  not  uninno- 
cent  amusement  for  the  last  century,  and  for  the  great  or- 
ator whose  eloquence  had  disturbed  the  judgment  of  the 
most  august  of  legislative  assemblies,  and  shaken  even  the 
convictions  of  the  hottest  partisans;  but  it  was  an  end  to 
which  he  had  been  for  some  time  tending,  and  which, 
perhaps,  the  loss  of  his  wife  had  made  one  way  or  other 
inevitable. 

In  the  mean  time  several  events  occurred  which  may  fill 
up  this  division  of  the  life  of  the  man,  as  apart  from  that 
of  the  politician  and  orator.  In  1794  the  new  theatre  was 
finished,  and  Sheridan  sketched  out  for  the  opening  a  sort 
of  extravaganza  called  The  Glorious  First  of  June,  which 
was  apparently  in  celebration  of  the  naval  victory  of  Lord 
Howe.  The  dialogue  was  not  his,  but  merely  the  con- 
struction and  arrangement,  and,  in  emulation  of  Tilbury 
and  the  feats  of  Mr.  Puff,  a  grand  sea-fight,  with  finale  of 
a  lovers'  meeting  to  the  triumphant  sounds  of  "Rule, 
Britannia,"  was  introduced.  The  two  pasteboard  fleets 
rehearsed  their  manoeuvres  under  the  eye  of  the  Duke  of 
Clarence,  and  it  is  to  be  supposed  that  the  spectacle  had  a 
triumphant  success.  A  year  or  two  later  a  less  agreeable 
incident  occurred  in  the  history  of  Drury  Lane.  Either 
8 


162  RICHARD  BKINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

deceived  by  the  many  who  were  ready  to  stake  their  credit 
upon  the  authenticity  of  the  Ireland  forgeries — then  given 
forth  as  a  discovery  of  precious  relics  of  Shakspeare,  in- 
cluding among  them  a  completed  and  unpublished  play — 
or  deceived  in  his  own  person  on  the  subject,  one  on  which 
he  was  not  learned,  Sheridan  accepted  for  the  theatre  this 
play,  called  Vortigern,  and  produced  it  with  much  pomp 
and  magnificence.  The  audience  was  a  crowded  and  crit- 
ical one;  and  the  public  mind  was  so  strongly  roused  by 
the  question  that,  no  doubt,  there  was  some  factious  feel- 
ing in  the  prompt  and  unmistakable  rejection  of  the  false 
Shakspeare,  to  which  Kemble  by  his  careless  acting  is 
said  to  have  contributed.  He  had  never  believed  in  the 
discovery,  and  might  be  irritated  that  the  decision  had 
been  made  without  consulting  him.  Dr.  Parr,  however, 
for  whom  Sheridan  had  a  great  respect,  and  with  whom 
he  kept  up  friendly  relations  all  his  life,  was  one  of  those 
who  had  headed  the  blunder,  receiving  the  forgeries  rev- 
erentially as  pure  Shakspeare;  and  it  was  natural  enough 
that  Sheridan's  judgment  should  have  been  influenced  by 
a  man  whom  he  must  have  felt  a  much  better  authority 
on  the  question  than  himself.  For  he  was  no  student  of 
Shakspeare,  and  his  prevailing  recklessness  was  more  than 
enough  to  counterbalance  the  keen  critical  instinct  which 
produced  The  Critic.  In  all  likelihood  he  never  investi- 
gated the  question  at  all,  but  calculated  on  a  temporary 
theatrical  success,  without  other  results.  "  Sheridan  was 
never  known  to  offer  his  opinion  on  the  matter  until  after 
its  representation  on  the  stage :  he  left  the  public  to  de- 
cide on  its  merits,"  says  one  of  his  biographers ;  but  the 
incident  is  not  an  agreeable  one. 

It  was  less  his  fault  than  that  of  his  public,  perhaps, 
that  the  stage,  shortly  after  recovering  from  the  salutary 


v.]  MIDDLE  AGE.  163 

influence  of  The  Critic,  dropped  again  into  bathos  and  the 
false  heroic.  "  Kotzebue  and  German  sausages  are  the  or- 
der of  the  day,"  Sheridan  himself  is  reported  to  have  said 
when,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  he  produced  the 
Stranger,  that  culmination  of  the  sentimental  common- 
place. Everybody  will  remember  Thackeray's  delightful 
banter  of  this  wonderful  production,  which  has,  however, 
situations  so  skilfully  prepared  and  opportunities  so  great 
for  a  clever  actress,  that  it  has  continued  to  find  a  place  in 
the  repertory  of  most  theatres,  and  is  still  to  be  heard  of 
as  the  show-piece  of  a  wandering  company,  as  well  as 
now  and  then  on  the  most  ambitious  boards,  its  dubious 
moral  and  un-Eno-Ksh  denouement  notwithstanding.  With 
Mrs.  Siddons  as  Mrs.  Haller,  it  may  be  imagined  that  the 
real  pathos  involved  in  the  story  would  have  full  expres- 
sion. 

The  success  of  the  Stranger  impelled  Sheridan  to  another 
adaptation  of  a  similar  kind,  in  the  tragedy  of  Pizarro,  which 
he  altered  and  decorated  so  much,  it  is  said,  as  to  make  it 
almost  his  own.  The  bombast  and  clap-trap  of  this  produc- 
tion make  us  regret  to  associate  it  with  his  name ;  but  here 
also  the  dramatic  construction  was  good  enough,  and  the 
situations  so  striking  as  to  rivet  the  attention  of  the  audi- 
ence, while  the  high-flown  magnificence  of  the  sentiments 
was  such  as  always  delights  the  multitude.  "When  some- 
thing was  said  to  Pitt,  between  whom  and  Sheridan  a 
gradually  increasing  enmity  had  grown,  about  the  new 
drama,  the  Minister  answered,  "  If  you  mean  what  Sher- 
idan wrote,  there  is  nothing  new  in  it.  I  have  heard  it  all 
long  ago  in  his  speeches  on  Hastings's  trial."  It  is  un- 
deniable that  there  is  a  good  deal  of  truth  in  this,  and 
that  Holla's  grand  patriotic  tirade — which  used  to  be  in 
all  school  reading-books,  as  a  lesson  in  elocution — bears  a 


164  RICHARD  BRIXSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

strong  resemblance  to  many  passages  in  Sheridan's  speeches. 
All  this  helped  its  popularity.  Grand  addresses  in  favour 
of  patriotism  are  always  delightful  to  the  galleries,  and 
have  at  all  times  a  charm  for  the  general  imagination  ; 
but  in  those  days,  when  there  was  actual  fighting  going  on, 
and  France,  who  had  constituted  herself  the  pedagogue  of 
the  world,  to  teach  the  nations  the  alphabet  of  freedom, 
-was  supposed  to  threaten  and  endanger  England  with  her 
fiery  teaching,  it  may  be  supposed  to  what  a  height  of 
enthusiasm  these  exhortations  would  rahe  the  audience. 
"  They  follow  an  adventurer  whom  they  fear,  and  obey  a 
power  which  they  hate ;  we  revere  a  monarch  whom  we 
love,  a  God  whom  we  adore.  They  boast  they  come  but 
to  improve  our  state,  enlarge  our  thoughts,  and  free  us 
from  the  yoke  of  error !  Yes !  they  will  give  enlightened 
freedom  to  our  minds,  who  are  themselves  the  slaves  of 
passion,  avarice,  and  pride !"  Whether  it  were  under 
Robespierre  or  Bonaparte,  the  common  people  in  England 
scorned  and  feared  the  heated  neighbour -nation,  which 
thought  itself  entitled  to  dictate  to  the  world;  and  no 
doubt  the  popular  mind  made  a  rapid  adaptation  of  these 
heroic  phrases. 

It  had  been  hard  to  move  the  author  to  complete  The 
Critic;  and  the  reader  wrill  remember  the  trick  of  Linley 
and  his  coadjutors  in  those  early  days  when  the  delays 
and  evasions  of  the  gay  young  man  were  an  excellent 
jest,  and  their  certainty  of  being  able  to  put  all  right 
when  they  could  lock  him  in  with  his  work  had  some- 
thing triumphant  in  it.  But  all  that  was  over  now ;  old 
Linley  was  dead,  and  a  new  generation,  who  had  no. wor- 
ship for  Sheridan,  and  a  very  clear  apprehension  of  the 
everlasting  confusion  produced  by  his  disorderly  ways,  had 
taken  the  place  of  the  light-hearted  actors  of  old.     But 


v.]  MIDDLE  AGE.  105 

notwithstanding  the  awe-inspiring  presence  of  Mrs.  Sid- 
dons,  and  the  importance  of  her  brother,  the  astounding- 
fact  that  when  the  curtain  fell  upon  the  fourth  act  of 
Pizarro  these  theatrical  potentates  had  not  yet  seen  their 
parts  for  the  fifth,  which  they  had  to  study  in  the  inter- 
val, is  vouched  for  by  various  witnesses.  It  is  hard  to 
imagine  the  state  of  the  actors'  minds,  the  terrible  anxiety 
of  the  manager,  in  such  an  extraordinary  dilemma,  and 
still  more  hard  to  realise  the  hopeless  confusion  in  the 
mind  of  the  man  who  knew  all  that  was  being  risked  by 
such  a  piece  of  folly,  and  yet  could  not  nerve  himself  to 
the  work  till  the  last  moment.  lie  was  drifting  on  the 
rapids  by  this  time,  and  going  headlong  to  ruin,  heedless 
of  everything,  name  and  fame,  credit  and  fortune,  the 
good  opinion  of  his  friends,  the  support  of  the  public,  all 
except  the  indulgence  of  the  whim  of  the  moment,  or  of 
the  habit  which  was  leading  him  to  destruction. 

He  took  another  step  about  the  same  time  which  might 
perhaps  have  redeemed  him  had  it  been  more  wisely  set 
about.  He  had  met  one  evening,  so  the  story  goes,  among 
other  more  important,  and  let  us  hope  more  well-bred  peo- 
ple, a  foolish,  pretty  girl,  who,  either  out  of  flippant  dislike 
to  his  looks,  or  that  very  transparent  agacerie  by  which 
foolish  men  are  sometimes  attracted  in  the  lower  ranks  of 
life,  regarded  him  with  exclamations  of  "Fright!  horrid 
creature !,?  and  the  like,  something  in  the  style,  not  of 
Evelina,  but  of  Miss  Burney's  vulgar  personages.  He  was 
by  this  time  forty-four,  but  ready  enough  still  to  take  up 
any  such  challenge,  and  cither  he  was  piqued  into  making 
so  frank  a  critic  change  her  opinions,  or  the  prettiness  and 
foolishness  of  the  girl  amused  and  pleased  him.  He  set 
to  work  at  once  to  make  her  aware  that  a  man  of  middle- 
age  and  unhandsome  aspect  may  yet  outdo  the  youngest 


160  RICHARD  BRIXSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

and  most  attractive,  and  no  very  great  time  elapsed  before 
he  was  completely  successful.  The  lady's  father  was  little 
pleased  with  the  match.  He  was  a  clergyman,  the  Dean 
of  Winchester,  and  might  well  have  been  indisposed  to 
give  his  daughter  and  her  five  thousand  pounds  to  a  man 
with  such  a  reputation.  lie  made  his  consent  conditional 
on  the  settling  of  fifteen  thousand  pounds,  in  addition  to 
her  own  little  fortune,  upon  her.  Sheridan  had  always 
been  great  in  financial  surprises,  and,  to  the  astonishment 
of  the  dean,  the  fifteen  thousand  was  soon  forthcoming. 
He  got  it  this  time  by  new  shares  of  the  theatre,  thus 
diminishing  his  receipts  always  a  little  and  a  little  more. 
A  small  estate,  Polesden,  in  Surrey,  was  bought  with  the 
money,  and  for  a  time  all  was  gaiety  and  pleasure.  It 
was  in  order  to  tell  him  of  this  marriage  that  Sheridan 
sent  for  his  son,  from  his  tutor  and  his  lessons,  on  the 
occasion  already  referred  to,  to  meet  him  at  Guildford,  at 
an  inn  of  which  he  had  forgotten  the  name.  Four  or  five 
days  after  the  anxious  tutor  received  a  letter  from  Tom. 
"  My  father  I  have  never  seen,"  wrote  the  lad,  "  and  all 
that  I  can  hear  of  him  is  that  instead  of  dining  with  me 
on  Wednesday  last,  he  passed  through  Guildford  on  his 
way  to  town,  with  four  horses  and  lamps,  about  twelve." 
Like  father  like  son,  the  youth  had  remained  there,  though 
with  only  a  few  shillings  in  his  pockets ;  but  at  the  end 
was  so  "  bored  and  wearied  out"  that  he  would  have  been 
glad  to  return  even  to  his  books.  Finally,  he  was  sent  for 
to  London  and  informed  of  the  mystery.  His  letter  to 
Smyth  disclosing  this  is  so  characteristic  that  it  is  worth 
quoting : 

"  It  is  not  I  that  am  to  be  married,  nor  you.  Set  your  heart  at 
rest:  it  is  my  father  himself;  the  lady  a  Miss  Ogle,  who  lives  at 
Winchester;   and  that   is   the   history  of  the   Guildford   business. 


v.]  MIDDLE  AGE.  107 

About  my  own  age — better  me  to  marry  her,  you  will  say.  I  am  not 
of  that  opinion.  My  father  talked  to  me  two  hours  last  night,  and 
made  out  to  me  that  it  was  the  most  sensible  thing  he  could  do. 
Was  not  this  very  clever  of  him  ?  Well,  my  dear  Mr.  S.,  you  should 
have  been  tutor  to  him,  you  see.  I  am  incomparably  the  most 
rational  of  the  two." 

Moore  describes  the  immediate  result  of  the  new  mar- 
riage as  a  renewal  of  Sheridan's  youth.  "  It  is  said  by 
those  who  were  in  habits  of  intimacy  with  him  at  this 
period  that  they  had  seldom  seen  his  spirits  in  a  state  of 
more  buoyant  vivacity,"  and  there  was  perhaps  a  possi- 
bility that  the  new  event  might  have  proved  a  turning- 
point.  It  is  unfair  to  blame  the  foolish  girl,  who  had  no 
idea  what  the  dangers  were  which  she  had  so  rashly 
undertaken  to  deal  with,  that  she  did  not  reclaim  or  de- 
liver Sheridan.  To  do  this  was  beyond  her  power,  as  it 
was  beyond  his  own. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

DECADENCE. 

Sheridan's  parliamentary  career  was  long*,  and  lie  took 
an  important  part  in  much  of  the  business  of  the  country ; 
but  lie  never  again  struck  the  same  high  note  as  that  with 
which  he  electrified  the  House  on  the  question  of  the  im- 
peachment of  Warren  Hastings.  His  speech  in  answer 
to  Lord  Mornington's  denunciation  of  the  Revolution  in 
France,  perhaps  his  next  most  important  effort,  was  elo- 
quent and  striking,  but  it  had  not  the  glow  and  glitter  of 
the  great  oration  under  which  the  Commons  of  England 
held  their  breath.  The  French  Revolution  by  this  time 
had  ceased  to  be  the  popular  and  splendid  outburst  of 
freedom  which  it  had  at  first  appeared.  Opinions  were 
now  violently  divided.  The  recent  atrocities  in  France 
had  scared  England ;  and  all  the  moving  subjects  which 
had  inspired  Sheridan  before,  the  pictures  of  innocence 
outraged  and  the  defenceless  slaughtered,  were  now  in  the 
hands  of  his  political  opponents.  He  selected  skilfully, 
however,  the  points  which  lie  could  most  effectively  turn 
against  them,  and  seizing  upon  Lord  Mornington's  descrip- 
tion of  the  sacrifices  by  which  French  patriotism  was  com- 
pelled to  prove  itself,  the  compulsory  loans  and  services, 
the  privations  and  poverty  amid  which  the  leaders  of  the 
Revolution  were  struggling,  drew  an  effective  picture  of 


chap.  vi. J  DECADENCE.  109 

the  very  different  state  of  affairs  in  England,  which  throws 
a  curious  light  upon  the  political  condition  of  the  time. 
Sheridan's  party  had  suffered  many  losses  and  defections. 
A  peer  in  those  days  or  a  wealthy  landed  gentleman  had 
need  to  be  enlightened  and  strong-minded  indeed,  if  not 
almost  fanatical  in  opinion,  to  continue  cordially  on  the 
side  of  those  who  were  confiscating  and  murdering  his 
equals  on  the  other  side  of  the  Channel,  and  who  had 
made  the  very  order  to  which  he  belonged  an  offence 
against  the  state.  The  Whig  nobility  were  no  more 
stoical  or  heroic  than  other  men,  and  the  publication  of 
Burke's  Reflections  and  his  impassioned  testimony  against 
the  uncontrollable  tendencies  of  the  Revolution  had  moved 
them  profoundly  even  before  the  course  of  events  proved 
his  prophecies  true.  To  make  the  conversion  of  these 
important  adherents  more  easy,  Pitt,  on  the  other  hand, 
held  out  his  arms  to  them,  and,  as  the  fashion  of  the  time 
was,  posts  and  sinecures  of  all  kinds  rained  upon  the  new 
converts.  Sheridan,  with  instinctive  perception  of  the 
mode  of  attack  which  suited  his  powers  best,  seized  upon 
this  with  something  of  the  same  fervour  as  that  with 
which,  though  in  no  way  particularly  interested  in  India, 
he  had  seized  upon  the  story  of  the  injured  Begums  and 
cruel  English  conquerors  in  the  East.  It  was  altogether 
the  other  side  of  the  argument,  yet  the  inspiration  of  the 
orator  was  the  same.  It  was  now  the  despoilers  who  were 
his  clients ;  but  their  work  of  destruction  had  not  been 
to  their  own  profit.  They  were  sufferers,  not  gainers. 
No  rich  posts  nor  hidden  treasures  were  reserved  by  them 
for  themselves,  and  the  contrast  between  the  advantages 
reaped  by  so  many  Englishmen  arrayed  against  them,  and 
the  sacrifices  and  privations  of  the  French  patriots,  was 
perfect.  Sheridan  took  up  the  subject  with  all  the  greater 
8* 


170  RICHARD  BRIXSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

wealth  and  energy  of  indignant  conviction  that  he  himself 
had  never  reaped  any  substantial  advantage  from  the  oc- 
casional elevation  of  his  own  party.  He  had  carried  no 
spoils  with  him  out  of  office ;  he  had  not  made  hay  while 
the  sun  shone.  If  anybody  had  a  right  to  be  called  a  dis- 
interested politician  he  had,  in  this  sense  at  least.  His 
interest  in  the  subjects  which  he  treated  might  be  more 
a  party  interest  than  any  real  devotion  to  the  cause  of 
freedom  and  humanity ;  but  his  hands  were  clean  from 
bribe  or  pecuniary  inducement ;  and  his  fervour,  if  per- 
haps churned  up  a  little  by  party  motives,  was  never  un- 
generous. The  indignant  bitterness  with  which  he  and 
the  small  party  who  adhered  to  Fox  regarded  the  deser- 
tion of  so  many  of  their  supporters  gave  force  to  the 
reply  with  which  he  met  Lord  Mornington's  unlucky  de- 
scription of  the  French  efforts.  On  no  other  point  could 
the  comparison  have  been  so  completely  in  favour  of  the 
revolutionary.  Sheridan  takes  the  account  of  their  priva- 
tions triumphantly  out  of  the  hand  of  the  narrator.  Far 
different  indeed,  he  cries  scornfully,  is  the  position  of  the 
rival  statesmen  and  officials  in  England.  He  can  imagine 
the  address  made  to  them  "  by  our  prudent  Minister  "  in 
words  like  the  following  —  words  which  burn  and  sting 
with  all  the  lire  of  satire : 

"Do  I  demand  of  you  wealthy  citizens  [it  is  Pitt  who  is  supposed 
to  be  the  speaker]  to  lend  your  hoards  to  Government  without  inter- 
est ?  On  the  contrary,  when  I  shall  come  to  propose  a  loan,  there 
is  not  a  man  of  you  to  whom  I  shall  not  hold  out  at  least  a  job  in 
every  part  of  the  subscription,  and  a  usurious  profit  upon  every 
pound  you  devote  to  the  necessities  of  your  country.  Do  I  demand 
of  you,  my  fellow-placemen  and  brother-pensioners,  that  you  should 
sacrifice  any  part  of  your  stipends  to  the  public  exigency  ?  On  the 
contrary,  am  I  not  daily  insuring  your  emoluments,  and  your  num- 
bers in  proportion  as  the  country  becomes  unable  to  provide  for  you? 


vi.]  DECADENCE.  171 

Do  I  require  of  you,  my  latest  and  most  zealous  proselytes — of  you 
who  have  come  over  to  me  for  the  special  purpose  of  supporting  the 
war,  a  war  on  the  success  of  which  you  solemnly  protest  that  the 
salvation  of  Britain  and  of  civil  society  itself  depends — do  I  require 
of  you  that  you  should  make  a  temporary  sacrifice  in  the  cause  of 
human  nature  of  the  greater  part  of  your  private  incomes  ?  No,  gen- 
tlemen, I  scorn  to  take  advantage  of  the  eagerness  of  your  zeal ;  and 
to  prove  that  I  think  the  sincerity  of  your  attachment  to  me  needs 
no  such  test,  I  will  make  your  interest  co-operate  with  your  princi- 
ple ;  I  will  quarter  many  of  you  on  the  public  supply,  instead  of  call- 
ing on  you  to  contribute  to  it,  and  while  their  whole  thoughts  are 
absorbed  in  patriotic  apprehensions  for  their  country,  I  will  dexter- 
ously force  upon  others  the  favorite  objects  of  the  vanity  or  ambi- 
tion of  their  lives." 

Then  the  orator  turns  to  give  his  own  judgment  of  the 
state  of  affairs.  "  Good  God,  sir !"  he  cries,  "  that  he  should 
have  thought  it  prudent  to  have  forced  this  contrast  upon 
our  attention !"  and  he  hurries  on  with  indignant  elo- 
quence to  describe  the  representations  made  of  "  the  un- 
precedented peril  of  the  country,"  the  constitution  in  dan- 
ger, the  necessity  of  "  maintaining  the  war  by  every  pos- 
sible sacrifice,"  and  that  the  people  should  not  murmur  at 
their  burdens,  seeing  that  their  all  was  at  stake : 

"The  time  is  come  when  all  honest  and  disinterested  men  should 
rally  round  the  throne  as  round  a  standard — for  what  ?  Ye  honest 
and  disinterested  men,  to  receive,  for  your  own  private  emolument, 
a  portion  of  those  very  taxes  which  they  themselves  wring  from  the 
people  on  the  pretence  of  saving  them  from  the  poverty  and  distress 
which  you  say  the  enemy  would  inflict,  but  which  you  take  care  no 
enemy  shall  be  able  to  aggravate.  Oh,  shame  !  shame  !  is  this  a  time 
for  selfish  intrigues,  and  the  little  dirty  traffic  for  lucre  and  emolu- 
ment ?  Does  it  suit  the  honour  of  a  gentleman  to  ask  at  such  a  mo- 
ment ?  Does  it  become  the  honesty  of  a  minister  to  grant  ?  Is  it 
intended  to  confirm  the  pernicious  doctrine,  so  industriously  propa- 
gated by  many,  that  all  public  men  are  impostors,  and  that  every 


172  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

politician  has  his  price  ?  Or  even  where  there  is  no  principle  in  the 
bosom,  why  does  not  prudence  hint  to  the  mercenary  and  the  vain 
to  abstain  a  while  at  least,  and  wait  the  fitting  of  the  times  ?  Im- 
provident impatience !  Nay,  even  from  those  who  seem  to  have  no 
direct  object  of  office  or  profit,  what  is  the  language  which  the  actors 
speak  ?  The  throne  is  in  danger  !  we  will  support  the  throne ;  but 
let  us  share  the  smiles  of  royalty.  The  order  of  nobility  is  in  danger  ! 
'I  will  fight  for  nobility,'  says  the  viscount,  'but  my  zeal  would  be 
much  greater  if  I  were  made  an  earl.'  '  Rouse  all  the  marquis  within 
me,'  exclaims  the  earl,  '  and  the  peerage  never  turned  forth  a  more 
undaunted  champion  in  its  cause  than  I  shall  prove.'  'Stain  my 
green  ribbon  blue,'  cries  out  the  illustrious  knight,  '  and  the  foun- 
tain of  honour  will  have  a  fast  and  faithful  servant.'  " 

This  scathing  blast  of  satire  must,  one  would  think, 
have  overwhelmed  the  Whig  deserters,  the  new  placemen 
and  sinecurists,  though  it  could  not  touch  the  impas- 
sioned soul  of  such  a  prophet  as  Burke,  whose  denuncia- 
tions and  anticipations  had  been  so  terribly  verified.  The 
reader  already  acquainted  with  the  life  of  Burke  will  re- 
member how,  early  in  the  controversy,  before  France  had 
stained  her  first  triumphs,  Sheridan  lost,  on  account  of 
his  continued  faith  in  the  Revolution,  the"  friendship  of 
his  great  countryman,  whose  fiery  temper  was  unable  to 
brook  so  great  a  divergence  of  opinion,  and  who  cut  him 
sternly  off,  as  he  afterwards  did  a  more  congenial  and 
devoted  friend,  Fox,  by  whom  the  breach  was  acknowl- 
edged with  tears  in  a  scene  as  moving  as  ever  was  en- 
acted in  the  House  of  Commons.  Sheridan  did  not  feel 
it  so  deeply,  the  link  between  them  being  lighter,  and  the 
position  of  involuntary  rivalship  almost  inevitable.  And 
though  it  cannot  be  believed  that  his  convictions  on  the 
subject  were  half  so  profound,  or  his  judgment  so  trust- 
worthy, his  was  the  more  difficult  side  of  opinion,  and 
his  fidelity  to  the  cause,  which,  politically  and,  we  may 


vi.]  DECADEXCE.  173 

even  say,  conventionally,  was  that  of  freedom,  was  un- 
wavering. The  speech  from  which  we  have  quoted  could 
not,  from  its  nature,  be  so  carefully  premeditated  and 
prepared  as  Sheridan's  great  efforts  had  heretofore  been ; 
but  it  had  the  advantage  of  being  corrected  for  the  press, 
and  has  consequently  reached  us  in  a  fuller  and  more 
complete  form  than  any  other  of  Sheridan's  speeches. 
Professor  Smyth  gives  a  graphic  account  of  his  sudden 
appearance  at  Wanstead  along  with  the  editor  of  the  pa- 
per in  which  it  had  been  reported,  and  of  the  laborious 
diligence  with  which  he  devoted  himself  to  its  revision, 
during  several  days  of  unbroken  work.  But  we  should 
scarcely  have  known  our  Sheridan  had  not  this  spasmodic 
effort  been  balanced  by  an  instance  of  characteristic  indo- 
lence and  carelessness.  Lord  Mornington  in  his  speech 
had  made  much  reference  to  a  French  pamphlet  by  Bris- 
sot,  a  translation  of  which  had  been  republished  in  Lon- 
don, with  a  preface  by  Burke,  and  largely  circulated. 
Smyth  remarked  that  Sheridan  accepted  Lord  M.'s  view 
of  this  pamphlet,  and  his  quotations  from  it.  "  How 
could  I  do  otherwise?"  he  said.  "I  never  read  a  word 
of  it."  Perhaps  it  was  not  necessary.  The  careful  com- 
bination of  facts  and  details  was  not  in  Sheridan's  way; 
but  in  his  hap-hazard  daring  a  certain  instinct  guided  him, 
and  he  seized  unerringly  the  thing  he  could  do,  the  point 
of  the  position,  picturesque  and  personal,  which  his  fac- 
ulty could  best  assail. 

A  far  less  satisfactory  chapter  in  his  life  was  that  al- 
ready referred  to,  which  linked  Sheridan's  fortunes  with 
those  of  the  Prince  Regent,  and  made  him,  for  a  long- 
time, almost  the  representative  in  Parliament  of  that  royal 
personage.  When  the  first  illness  of  the  King,  in  1*789, 
made  it  likely  that  power  must  come  one  way  or  other 


174  RICHARD  BRIXSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

into  the  hands  of  the  heir-apparent,  there  was  much  ex- 
citement, as  was  natural,  among  the  party  with  which  the 
name  of  the  Prince  of  Wales  was  connected,  and  who,  as 
appeared,  had  everything  to  hope  from  his  accession,  actual 
or  virtual.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  our  purpose  to  trace 
the  stormy  party  discussions  on  the  subject  of  the  Regency, 
between  the  extreme  claim  put  forth  by  Fox  of  the  right 
of  the  Prince  to  be  immediately  invested  with  all  the  pow- 
ers of  royalty,  as  his  father's  natural  deputy  and  represent- 
ative, and  the  equally  extreme  counter-statement  of  Pitt, 
dictated  by  alarm,  as  the  other  was  by  hope,  that  "the 
"  Prince  of  Wales  had  no  more  right  to  exercise  the  pow- 
ers of  government  than  any  other  person  in  the  realm." 
Sheridan's  share  in  the  debate  was  chiefly  signalised  by  his 
threat,  as  injudicious  as  the  original  assertion  of  his  leader, 
that  "  the  Prince  might  be  provoked  to  make  the  claim 
which  the  other  party  opposed  so  strenuously ;"  "  but  his 
most  important  agency,"  says  Moore,  "lay  in  the  less  pub- 
lic business  connected  with"  the  question.  He  was  in  high 
favour  at  Carlton  House,  and  the  chosen  adviser  of  the 
Prince ;  and  although  Moore's  researches  enabled  him  to 
prove  that  the  most  important  document  in  the  whole  epi- 
sode— the  Prince's  letter  to  Pitt — was  the  production,  not 
of  Sheridan,  but  of  the  master-spirit,  Burke,  Sheridan's  pen 
was  employed  in  various  papers  of  importance  ;  and  though 
the  post  allotted  to  him  in  the  shortlived  new  ministry 
was  no  more  than  that  of  Treasurer  of  the  Navy,  a  posi- 
tion not  at  all  adequate  to  his  apparent  importance,  he 
was  in  reality  a  very  active  agent  behind  the  scenes.  The 
King's  speedy  recovery,  however,  at  this  moment  was  fatal 
to  Sheridan's  fortunes,  and  all  that  came  of  this  momen- 
tary gleam  of  advancement  to  his  family  was  that  Charles 
Sheridan,  in  Ireland,  whose  post  had  been  the  only  gain 


vi.]  DECADENCE.  175 

of  his  brother's  former  taste  of  power,  lost  it  in  conse- 
quence of  the  new  re-revolution  of  affairs,  though  he  car- 
ried with  him  a  pension  of  £1200  a  year — probably  a  very 
good  substitute.  lie  was  the  only  one  profited  in  pocket 
by  Sheridan's  political  elevation  and  fame.  Once  more, 
in  1806,  after  the  death  of  Pitt,  Sheridan  followed  Fox 
into  office  in  the  same  unimportant  post  of  Treasurer  to 
the  Navy.  But  Fortune  was  not  on  his  side,  and  Fox's 
death  in  a  few  months  withdrew  him  for  ever  from  all 
the  chances  of  power. 

It  seems  inconceivable,  though  true,  that  the  two  great 
orators  of  the  period,  the  men  whose  figures  stand  prom- 
inent in  every  discussion,  and  one  of  whom  at  least  had 
so  large  and  profound  an  influence  on  his  time,  should, 
when  their  party  rose  to  the  head  of  affairs,  have  been 
so  unceremoniously  disposed  of.  Sheridan's  insignificant 
post  might  be  accounted  for  by  his  known  incapacity 
for  continued  exertion ;  but  to  read  the  name  of  Burke 
as  Paymaster  of  the  Forces  fills  the  reader  with  amaze- 
ment. They  wrcre  both  self-made,  without  family  or  con- 
nections to  found  a  claim  upon,  but  the  eminence,  espe- 
cially of  the  latter,  was  incontestable.  Both  were  of  the 
highest  importance  to  their  party,  and  Sheridan  was  in  the 
enjoyment  of  that  favour  of  the  Prince  which  told  for  so 
much  in  those  days.  And  yet  this  was  the  best  that  their 
claims  could  secure.  It  is  a  somewhat  humiliating  proof 
of  how  little  great  mental  gifts,  reaching  the  height  of 
genius  in  one  case,  can  do  for  their  possessor.  Both 
Burke  and  Sheridan  are  favourite  instances  of  the  reverse 
opinion.  It  is  a  commonplace  to  quote  them  as  examples 
of  the  manner  in  which  a  man  of  genius  may  raise  himself 
to  the  highest  elevation.  And  yet,  after  they  had  dazzled 
England  for  years,  one  of  them   the  highest  originating 


17G  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

soul,  the  profoundest  thinker  of  his  class,  the  other  an  un- 
rivalled instrument  at  least  in  the  hand  of  a  great  party 
leader,  this  was  all  they  could  attain  to — Edmund  Burke, 
Paymaster  of  the  Forces;  Brinsley  Sheridan,  Treasurer 
of  the  Navy.  It  is  a  curious  commentary  upon  the  un- 
bounded applause  and  reputation  which  these  two  men 
enjoyed  in  their  day,  and  the  place  they  have  taken 
permanently  in  the  history  of  their  generation. 

Sheridan's  connection  with  the  Prince  lasted  for  many 
years.  He  appears  to  have  been  not  only  one  of  his 
favourite  companions,  but  for  some  time  at  least  his  most 
confidential  adviser.  When  the  Prince  on  his  marriage 
put  forth  a  second  demand  for  the  payment  of  his  debts, 
after  the  distinct  promise  made  on  the  first  occasion  that 
no  such  claim  should  be  made  again,  it  was  Sheridan  who 
was  the  apologist,  if  apology  his  explanation  can  be  called. 
He  informed  the  House  that  he  had  advised  the  Prince  to 
make  no  such  pledge,  but  that  it  was  inserted  without  the 
knowledge  of  either,  and  at  a  moment  when  it  was  im- 
possible to  withdraw  from  it.  He  added  that  he  himself 
had  drawn  up  a  scheme  of  retrenchment  which  would 
have  made  such  an  application  unnecessary,  that  he  had 
put  a  stop  to  a  loan  proposed  to  be  raised  for  the  Prince 
in  France,  as  unconstitutional,  and  that  he  had  systemati- 
cally counselled  an  abstinence  from  all  meddling  in  great 
political  questions.  Moore  characterises  this  explanation 
as  marked  by  "  a  communicativeness  that  seemed  hardly 
prudent,"  and  it  is  difficult  to  suppose  that  Sheridan's 
royal  patron  could  have  liked  it ;  but  he  did  not  disown 
it  in  any  way,  and  retained  the  speaker  in  his  closest  con- 
fidence for  many  years,  during  which  Sheridan's  time  and 
pen  and  ready  eloquence  were  always  at  his  master's  ser- 
vice.    There  is  a  strange  mixture  throughout  his  history 


vi.]  DECADENCE.  Ill 

of  serviceableness  and  capacity  for  work,  with  an  almost 
incredible  carelessness  and  indolence,  of  which  his  be- 
haviour at  this  period  affords  a  curious  example.  He 
would  seem  to  have  spared  no  trouble  in  the  Prince's 
service,  to  have  been  ready  at  his  call  at  all  times  and 
seasons,  conducting  the  most  important  negotiations  for 
him,  and  acting  as  the  means  of  communication  between 
him  and  the  leaders  of  his  party.  Perhaps  pride  and  a 
gratified  sense  of  knowing  the  mind  of  the  heir-apparent 
better  than  any  one  else,  may  have  supplied  the  place  of 
true  energy  and  diligence  for  the  moment;  and  certainly 
he  was  zealous  and  busy  in  his  patron's  affairs,  disorderly 
and  indifferent  as  he  was  in  his  own.  And  though  his 
power  and  influence  were  daily  decreasing  in  Parliament, 
his  attendance  becoming  more  and  more  irregular,  and  his 
interest  in  public  business  capricious  and  fitful,  yet  there 
were  still  occasions  on  which  Sheridan  came  to  the  front 
with  an  energy  and  spirit  worthy  of  his  best  days.  One 
of  these  was  at  the  time  of  the  great  mutiny  at  the  Nore, 
when  the  ministry  was  embarrassed  on  all  hands,  the  Op- 
position violently  factious,  and  every  appearance  alarming. 
Sheridan  threw  himself  into  the  midst  of  the  excitement 
with  a  bold  and  generous  support  of  the  Government, 
which  strengthened  their  hands  in  the  emergency  and 
did  much  to  restore  tranquillity  and  confidence.  "  The 
patriotic  promptitude  of  his  interference,"  says  Moore, 
"was  even  more  striking  than  it  appears  in  the  record  of 
his  parliamentary  labours."  By  this  time  Fox  had  with- 
drawn from  the  House,  and  no  other  of  the  Whig  leaders 
showed  anything  of  Sheridan's  energy  and  public  spirit. 
At  a  still  later  period,  in  the  course  of  a  discussion  on  the 
army  estimates,  he  was  complimented  by  Canning  as  "  a 
man  who  had  often  come  forward  in  times  of  public  em- 


178  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

barrassment  as  the  champion  of  the  country's  rights  and 
interests,  and  had  rallied  the  hearts  and  spirits  of  the  na- 
tion." The  warmest  admirer  of  Sheridan  might  be  con- 
tent to  let  such  words  as  these  stand  as  the  conclusion  of 
his  parliamentary  career. 

Thus  his  life  was  checkered  with  bursts  of  recovery, 
with  rapid  and  unexpected  manifestations  of  power. 
Now  and  then  he  would  rise  to  the  height  of  a  crisis,  and 
by  moments  display  a  faculty  prompt  and  eager  and  prac- 
tical. Sometimes,  on  a  special  occasion,  he  would  work 
hard,  "till  the  motes  were  in  his  eyes."  There  must  have 
been  in  him  some  germ  of  financial  genius  which  enabled 
him  without  any  capital  to  acquire  great  property,  and 
conduct  what  was  in  reality  a  large  commercial  speculation 
in  his  theatre  with  success  for  many  years.  All  these 
qualities  are  strangely  at  variance  with  the  background  of 
heedlessness,  indolence,  and  reckless  self-indulgence  which 
take  both  credit  and  purpose  out  of  his  life.  He  is  like 
two  men,  one  of  them  painfully  building  up  what  the 
other  every  day  delights  to  pull  down.  His  existence 
from  the  time  of  his  wife's  death  seems,  when  we  look 
back  upon  it,  like  a  headlong  rush  to  destruction ;  and 
yet  even  in  the  last  chapter  of  his  career  there  were  times 
when  he  would  turn  and  stand  and  present  a  manful  front 
to  fate.  Though  there  is  no  appearance  in  anything  he 
says  or  does  of  very  high  political  principles,  yet  he  held 
steadfastly  by  the  cause  of  reform,  and  for  the  freedom 
of  the  subject,  and  against  all  encroachments  of  power,  as 
long  as  he  lived.  He  was  on  the  side  of  Ireland  in  the 
troubles  then  as  always  existing,  though  of  a  changed  com- 
plexion from  those  wre  are  familiar  with  now.  He  would 
not  allow  himself  to  be  persuaded  out  of  his  faith  in 
the   new  principle  of  freedom   in   France,  either  by  the 


vi.]  DECADEXCE.  179 

excesses  which  disgraced  it,  or  by  the  potent  arguments 
of  his  friend  and  countryman.  And  he  was  disinterested 
and  faithful  in  his  party  relations,  giving  up  office  almost 
unnecessarily  when  he  considered  that  his  political  alle- 
giance required  it,  and  holding  fast  to  his  leader  even  when 
there  was  estrangement  between  them.  All  these  partic- 
ulars should  be  remembered  to  Sheridan's  credit.  He  got 
nothing  for  his  political  services,  at  a  time  when  sine- 
cures were  common,  and,  with  one  exception,  kept  his 
political  honour  stainless,  and  never  departed  from  his 
standard. 

He  served  the  Prince  in  the  same  spirit  of  disinter- 
estedness— a  disinterestedness  so  excessive  that  it  looks 
like  recklessness  and  ostentatious  indifference  to  ordinary 
motives.  That  gratification  in  the  confidence  of  royalty, 
which  in  all  ages  has  moved  men  to  sacrifices  and  labours 
not  undertaken  willingly  in  any  other  cause,  seems  a  poor 
sort  of  inspiration  when  Royal  George  was  the  object  of  it ; 
but  in  this  case  it  was  like  master  like  man,  and  the  boon 
companion  whose  wit  enlivened  the  royal  orgies  was  not 
likely  perhaps  to  judge  his  Prince  by  any  high  ideal.  He 
had  never  received  from  his  royal  friend  "so  much  as  the 
present  of  a  horse  or  a  picture,"  until  in  the  year  1804  the 
appointment  of  Receiver  of  the  Duchy  of  Cornwall  was 
conferred  upon  him,  an  appointment  which  he  announces 
to  the  then  Minister,  Mr.  Addington,  with  lively  satisfac- 
tion and  gratitude : 

"  It  has  been  my  pride  and  pleasure,"  he  says,  "  to  have  exerted 
my  humble  efforts  to  serve  the  Prince  without  ever  accepting  the 
slightest  obligation  from  him ;  but  in  the  present  case  and  under  the 
present  circumstances  I  think  it  would  have  been  really  false  pride 
and  apparently  mischievous  affectation  to  have  declined  this  mark 
of  his  Roval  Highness's  confidence  and  favour." 


180  RICHARD  BRIXSLEY  SHERID^X.  [chap. 

It  was  no  great  return  for  so  many  services ;  and  even 
this  was  not  at  first  a  satisfactory  gift,  since  it  Lad  been 
previously  bestowed  (hypothetical!}')  on  some  one  else, 
and  a  long  correspondence  and  many  representations  and 
explanations  seem' to  have  been  exchanged  before  Sher- 
idan was  secure  in  his  post  —  the  only  profit  he  car- 
ried with  him  out  of  his  prolonged  and  brilliant  politi- 
cal life. 

The  one  instance,  which  has  been  referred  to,  in  which 
his  political  loyalty  was  defective  occurred  very  near  the 
end  of  his  career.  Fox  was  dead,  to  whom,  though  some 
misunderstanding  had  clouded  their  later  intercourse,  he 
had  always  been  faithful,  and  other  leaders  had  succeeded 
in  the  conduct  of  the  party,  leaders  with  whom  Sheridan 
had  less  friendship  and  sympathy,  and  who  had  thwarted 
him  in  his  wish  to  succeed  Fox  as  the  representative  of 
"Westminster,  an  honour  on  which  he  had  set  his  heart. 
It  was  in  favour  of  a  young  uobleman  of  no  account  in 
the  political  world  that  the  man  who  had  so  long  been 
an  ornament  to  the  party,  and  had  in  his  day  done  it  such 
manful  service,  was  put  aside ;  and  Sheridan  would  have 
been  more  than  mortal  had  he  not  felt  it  deeply.  The 
opportunity  of  avenging  himself  occurred  before  long. 
When  the  Prince,  his  patron,  finally  came  to  the  position 
of  Regent,  under  many  restrictions,  and  with  an  almost 
harsh  insistence  upon  the  fact  that  he  held  the  office  not 
by  right,  but  by  the  will  of  Parliament,  Sheridan  had  one 
moment  of  triumph — a  triumph  almost  whimsical  in  its 
completeness.  In  the  ordinary  course  of  affairs  it  became 
the  duty  of  the  Lords  Grey  and  Granville,  the  recognised 
leaders  of  the  Whig  party,  which  up  to  this  time  had  been 
the  party  specially  attached  to  the  Prince,  to  prepare  his 
reply  to  the  address  presented  to  him  by  the  Houses  of 


VI.]  DECADENCE.  181 

Parliament ;  but  the  document,  when  submitted  to  liiin, 
was  not  to  the'  royal  taste.  Sheridan,  in  the  meanwhile, 
who  knew  all  the  thoughts  of  his  patron  and  how  to  please 
him,  had  prepared  privately,  almost  accidentally,  according 
to  his  own  account,  a  draft  of  another  reply,  which  the 
Prince  adopted  instead,  to  the  astonishment  and  indignant 
dismay  of  the  ofiicial  leaders,  who  could  scarcely  believe 
in  the  possibility  of  such  an  interference.  Moore  enters 
into  a  lengthened  explanation  of  Sheridan's  motives  and 
conduct,  supported  by  his  own  letters  and  statements,  of 
which  there  are  so  many  that  it  is  very  apparent  he  was 
himself  conscious  of  much  necessity  for  explanation.  The 
great  Whig  Lords,  who  thus  found  themselves  superseded, 
made  an  indignant  remonstrance ;  but  the  mischief  was 
done.  In  the  point  of  view  of  party  allegiance  the  pro- 
ceeding was  indefensible ;  and  yet  we  cannot  but  think 
the  reader  will  feel  a  certain  sympathy  with  Sheridan  in 
this  sudden  turning  of  the  tables  upon  the  men  who  had 
slighted  him  and  ignored  his  claims.  They  were  new  men, 
less  experienced  than  himself,  and  the  dangerous  gratifica- 
tion of  showing  that,  in  spite  of  all  they  might  do,  he  had 
still  the  power  to  forestall  and  defeat  them,  must  hare 
been  a  very  strong  temptation.  But  such  gratifications  are 
of  a  fatal  kind.  Sheridan  himself,  even  at  the  moment  of 
enjoying  it,  must  have  been  aware  of  the  perilous  step  he 
was  taking.  And  it  is  another  proof  of  the  curious  mixt- 
ure of  capacity  for  business  and  labour  which  existed  in 
him  along  with  the  most  reckless  indolence  and  forgetful- 
ness,  that  the  literature  of  this  incident  is  so  abundant ; 
and  that,  what  with  drafts  prepared  for  the  Prince's  con- 
sideration, and  letters  and  documents  of  state  corrected 
for  his  adoption,  and  all  the  explanatory  addresses  on  his 
own  account  which  Sheridan  thought  necessary,  he  was  as 


182  RICHARD  BRIXSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

fully  employed  at  this  crisis  as  if  he  had  been  a  Secretary 
of  State. 

This  or  anything  like  it  he  was  not,  however,  fated  to 
be.  A  humbler  appointment,  that  of  Chief  Secretary,  un- 
der the  Lord-lieutenant  of  Ireland,  had  been  designed  for 
him  had  the  Whig  party,  as  they  anticipated,  come  into 
office ;  although,  after  the  mortification  to  which  Sheridan 
had  subjected  his  noble  chiefs,  even  such  an  expedient  of 
getting  honourably  rid  of  him  might  have  been  more  than 
their  magnanimity  was  equal  to.  But  these  expectations 
faded  as  soon  as  the  Regent  was  firmly  established  in  his 
place.  The  Prince,  as  is  well  known,  pursued  the  course 
common  to  heirs  on  their  accession,  and  flung  over  the 
party  of  Opposition  to  which  he  had  previously  attached 
himself.  The  Whigs  were  left  in  the  lurch,  and  their  po- 
litical opponents  continued  in  power.  That  Sheridan  had 
a  considerable  share  in  bringing  this  about  seems  evident ; 
but  in  punishing  them  he  punished  also  himself.  If  he 
could  not  serve  under  them,  it  was  evidently  impossible 
that  under  the  other  party  he  could  with  any  regard  to  his 
own  honour  serve.  There  is  an  account  in  the  anonymous 
biography  to  which  reference  has  been  made  of  an  attempt 
on  the  part  of  the  Prince  to  induce  Sheridan  to  follow  him- 
self in  his  change  of  politics;  but  this  has  an  apocryphal 
aspect,  as  the  report  of  a  private  conversation  between  two 
persons,  neither  very  likely  to  repeat  it,  always  has.  It  is 
added  that,  after  Sheridan's  refusal,  he  saw  no  more  of  his 
royal  patron.  Anyhow  it  would  seem  that  the  intercourse 
between  them  failed  after  this  point.  The  brilliant  instru- 
ment had  done  its  service,  and  was  no  longer  wanted.  To 
please  his  Prince,  and  perhaps  to  avenge  himself,  he  had 
broken  his  allegiance  to  his  party,  and  henceforward  neither 
they  whom  he  had  thus  deserted,  nor  he  for  whom  he  had 


vi.]  DECADENCE.  1S3 

deserted  them,  had  any  place  or  occasion  for  him.  He 
continued  to  appear  fitfully  in  his  place  in  Parliament  for 
some  time  after,  and  one  of  his  latest  speeches  gives  ex- 
pression to  his  views  on  the  subject  of  Catholic  Emanci- 
pation. Sheridan's  nationality  could  be  little  more  than 
nominal,  yet  his  interest  in  Irish  affairs  had  always  been 
great,  and  he  had  invariably  supported  the  cause  of  that 
troubled  country  in  all  emergencies.  In  this  speech,  which 
was  one  of  the  last  expressions  of  his  opinions  on  an  Irish 
subject,  he  maintains  that  the  good  treatment  of  the 
Catholics  wras  "  essential  to  the  safety  of  this  empire  " : 

"  I  will  never  give  my  vote  to  any  Administration  that  opposes  the 
question  of  Catholic  Emancipation.  I  will  not  consent  to  receive  a 
furlough  upon  that  particular  cmestion,  even  though  a  ministry  were 
carrying  every  other  I  wished.  In  fine,  I  think  the  situation  of  Ire- 
land a  permanent  consideration.  If  they  were  to  be  the  last  words 
I  should  ever  utter  in  this  House  I  should  say,  'Be  just  to  Ireland 
as  you  value  your  own  honour;  be  just  to  Ireland  as  you  value  your 
own  peace.' " 

In  this  point  at  least  he  showed  true  discernment,  and 
was  no  false  prophet. 

The  last  stroke  of  evil  fortune  had,  however,  fallen  upon 
Sheridan  several  years  before  the  conclusion  of  his  par- 
liamentary life,  putting  what  was  in  reality  the  finishing 
touch  to  his  many  and  long -continued  embarrassments. 
One  evening  in  the  early  spring  of  the  year  1809  a  sud- 
den blaze  illuminated  the  House  of  Commons  in  the  midst 
of  a  debate,  lighting  up  the  assembly  with  so  fiery  and 
wild  a  light  that  the  discussion  was  interrupted  in  alarm. 
Sheridan  was  present  in  his  place,  and  when  the  intima- 
tion was  made  that  the  blaze  came  from  Drury  Lane,  and 
that  his  new  theatre,  so  lately  opened,  and  still  scarcely 
completed,  was  the  fuel  which  fed  this  fire,  it  must  have 


184  RICHARD  BRIXSLEY  SHER1DAX.  [chap. 

been  a  pale  countenance  indeed  upon  -which  that  fiery  il- 
lumination shone ;  but  he  had  never  failed  in  courage,  and 
this  time  the  thrill  of  desperation  must  have  moved  the 
man  -whose  ruin  was  thus  accomplished.  When  some 
scared  member,  perhaps  with  a  tender  thought  for  the 
orator  who  had  once  in  that  place  stood  so  high,  proposed 
the  adjournment  of  the  House,  Sheridan,  with  the  proud 
calm  which  such  a  highly-strained  nature  is  capable  of  in 
great  emergencies,  was  the  first  to  oppose  the  impulse. 
"  Whatever  might  be  the  extent  of  the  calamity,"  he  said, 
"  he  hoped  it  would  not  interfere  with  the  public  business 
of  the  country."  lie  left  his  brother  members  to  debate 
the  war  in  Spain,  while  he  went  forth  to  witness  a  catas- 
trophe which  made  the  further  conduct  of  any  struggle  in 
his  own  person  an  impossibility.  Some  time  later  he  was 
found  seated  in  one  of  the  coffee-houses  in  Covent  Garden, 
"  swallowing  port  by  the  tumblerful,"  as  one  witness  says. 
One  of  the  actors,  who  had  been  looking  on  at  the  scene 
of  destruction,  made  an  indignant  and  astonished  outcry 
at  sight  of  him,  when  Sheridan,  looking  up,  with  the  wild 
gaiety  of  despair  and  that  melancholy  humour  which  so 
often  lights  up  a  brave  man's  ruin,  replied,  "  Surely  a  man 
may  be  allowed  to  take  a  glass  of  wine  by  his  own  fire- 
side." The  blaze  which  shone  upon  these  melancholy 
potations  consumed  everything  he  had  to  look  to  in  the 
world.  He  was  still  full  of  power  to  enjoy,  a  man  not 
old  in  years,  and  of  the  temperament  which  never  grows 
old;  but  he  must  have  seen  everything  that  made  life 
possible  flying  from  him  in  those  thick- coiling  wreaths 
of  smoke.  There  was  still  his  parliamentary  life  and  his 
Prince's  favour  to  fall  back  upon,  but  probably  in  that 
dark  hour  his  better  judgment  showed  him  that  every- 
thing was  lost. 


vi.]  DECADENCE.  185 

After  the  moment  of  disaster,  however,  Sheridan's  buoy- 
ant nature  and  that  keen  speculative  faculty  which  would 
seem  to  have  been  so  strong  in  him,  awoke  with  all  the 
fervour  of  the  rebound  from  despair,  as  he  began  to  see  a 
new  hope.  In  a  letter  addressed  to  Mr.  Whitbread,  written 
soon  after  the  fire,  and  with  the  high  compliment  that  he 
considered  Whitbread  "  the  man  living  in  my  estimation 
the  most  disposed  and  the  most  competent  to  bestow  a 
portion  of  your  time  and  ability  to  assist  the  call  of  friend- 
ship," he  thus  appeals  to  his  kindness: 

"You  said  some  time  since,  in  my  house,  but  iu  a  careless  conver- 
sation only,  that  you  would  be  a  member  of  a  committee  for  rebuild- 
ing Drury  Lane  Theatre,  if  it  would  serve  me ;  and  indeed  you  very 
kindly  suggested  yourself  that  there  were  more  persons  to  assist  that 
object  than  I  was  aware  of.  I  most  thankfully  accept  the  offer  of 
your  interference,  and  am  convinced  of  the  benefits  your  friendly 
exertions  are  competent  to  produce.  I  have  worked  the  whole  sub- 
ject in  my  own  mind,  and  see  a  clear  way  to  retrieve  a  great  property, 
at  least  to  my  son  and  his  family,  if  my  plan  meets  the  support  I 
hope  it  will  appear  to  merit. 

"  Writing  this  to  you  in  the  sincerity  of  private  friendship  and  the 
reliance  I  place  on  my  opinion  of  your  character,  I  need  not  ask  of 
you,  though  eager  and  active  in  politics  as  you  are,  not  to  be  severe 
in  criticising  my  palpable  neglect  of  all  parliamentary  duty.  It  would 
not  be  easy  to  explain  to  you,  or  even  to  make  you  comprehend,  or 
any  one  in  prosperous  and  affluent  plight,  the  private  difficulties  I 
have  to  struggle  with.  My  mind  and  the  resolute  independence  be- 
longing to  it  has  not  been  in  the  least  subdued  by  the  late  calamity; 
but  the  consequences  arising  from  it  have  more  engaged  and  em- 
barrassed me  than  perhaps  I  have  been  willing  to  allow.  It  has  been 
a  principle  of  my  life,  persevered  in  through  great  difficulties,  never 
to  borrow  money  of  a  private  friend  ;  and  this  resolution  I  would 
starve  rather  than  violate.  When  I  ask  you  to  take  part  in  this  set- 
tlement of  my  shattered  affairs  I  ask  you  only  to  do  so  after  a  pre- 
vious investigation  of  every  part  of  the  past  circumstances  which  re- 
late to  the  truth.  I  wish  you  to  accept,  in  conjunction  with  those 
9 


186  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

who  wish  to  serve  me,  and  to  whom  I  think  you  would  not  object.  I 
may  be  again  seized  with  an  illness  as  alarming  as  that  I  lately  ex- 
perienced. Assist  me  in  relieving  my  mind  from  the  greatest  afflic- 
tion that  such  a  situation  can  again  produce — the  fear  of  others 
suffering  by  my  death." 

Sheridan's  proposal  was,  that  the  theatre  should  be  re- 
built by  subscription  by  a  committee  under  the  chair- 
manship of  Whitbread,  he  himself  and  his  son  receiving 
from  them  an  equivalent  in  money  for  their  share  of  the 
property  under  the  patent.  This  was  done  accordingly. 
Sheridan's  share  amounted  to  £24,000,  while  his  son  got 
the  half  of  that  sum.  But  the  money  which  was  to  take 
the  place  of  the  income  which  Sheridan  had  so  long  drawn 
from  the  theatre  was,  it  is  needless  to  say,  utterly  inade- 
quate, and  was  ingulfed  almost  immediately  by  payments. 
Indeed,  the  force  of  circumstances  and  his  necessities  com- 
pelled him  to  use  it,  as  he  might  have  used  a  sum  inde- 
pendent of  his  regular  income  which  had  fallen  into  his 
hand.  Whitbread  was  not  to  be  dealt  with  now  as  had 
been  the  world  in  general  in  Sheridan's  brighter  days. 
"  He  was,  perhaps,"  says  Moore,  "  the  only  person  whom 
Sheridan  had  ever  found  proof  against  his  powers  of  per- 
suasion;"  and  as  in  the  long  labyrinth  of  engagements 
which  Sheridan  no  more  expected  to  be  held  closely  to 
than  he  would  himself  have  held  to  a  bargain,  he  had 
undertaken  to  wait  for  his  money  until  the  theatre  was 
rebuilt,  there  were  endless  controversies  and  struggles  over 
every  demand  he  made :  and  they  were  many.  Sheridan 
had  pledged  himself  also  to  non-interference,  to  "  have  no 
concern  or  connection  of  any  kind  whatever  with  the  new 
undertaking,"  with  as  little  idea  of  being  held  to  the 
pledge ;  and  when  his  criticisms  upon  the  plans,  and  at- 
tempts to  alter  them,  were  repulsed,  and  the  promises  he 


yi.]  DECADENCE.  187 

had  made  recalled  to  liis  memory,  his  indignation  knew  no 
bounds.  "  There  cannot  exist  in  England,"  he  cries,  "  an 
individual  so  presumptuous  or  so  void  of  common-sense  as 
not  sincerely  to  solicit  the  aid  of  my  practical  experience 
on  this  occasion,  even  were  I  not  in  justice  to  the  sub- 
scribers bound  to  offer  it."  In  short,  it  is  evident  that  he 
never  had  faced  the  position  at  all,  but  expected  to  remain 
to  some  extent  at  the  head  of  affairs  as  of  old,  and  with 
an  inexhaustible  treasury  to  draw  upon,  although  he  had 
formally  renounced  all  claim  upon  either.  When  he 
wrote  indignantly  to  Whitbread  as  to  an  advance  of 
£2000  which  had  been  refused  to  him,  and  of  which  he 
declared  that  "  this  and  this  alone  lost  me  my  election " 
(to  Stafford,  whither  he  had  returned  after  his  failure  at 
Westminster),  Whitbread  replied  in  a  letter  which  paints 
the  condition  of  the  unfortunate  man  beset  by  creditors 
with  the  most  pitiful  distinctness : 

"  You  will  recollect  the  £5000  pledged  to  Peter  Moore  to  answer 
demands ;  the  certificates  given  to  Giblet,  Ker,  Iremonger,  Cross,  and 
Hirdle,  five  each  at  your  request ;  the  engagements  given  to  Ettes 
and  myself,  and  the  arrears  to  the  Linley  family.  All  this  taken 
into  consideration  will  leave  a  large  balance  still  payable  to  you. 
Still  there  are  upon  that  balance  the  claims  upon  you  of  Shaw,  Tay- 
lor, and  Grubb,  for  all  of  which  you  have  offered  to  leave  the  whole 
of  your  compensation  in  my  hand  to  abide  the  issue  of  arbitration." 

Poor  Sheridan !  he  had  meant  to  eat  his  cake  yet  have 
it,  as  is  so  common.  In  his  wonderful  life  of  shifts  and 
chances  he  had  managed  to  do  so  again  and  again.  But 
the  moment  had  come  when  it  was  no  more  practicable, 
and  neither  persuasion  nor  threats  nor  indignation  could 
move  the  stern  man  of  business  to  whom  he  had  so  lately 
appealed  as  the  man  of  all  others  most  likely  to  help  and 
succour.     He  was  so  deeply  wounded  by  the  management 


188  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

of  the  new  building  and  all  its  arrangements  that  he  would 
not  permit  his  wife  to  accept  the  box  which  had  been 
offered  for  her  use  by  the  committee,  and  it  was  a  long 
time  before  he  could  be  persuaded  so  much  as  to  enter  the 
theatre  with  which  his  whole  life  had  been  connected.  It 
was  for  the  opening  of  this  new  Drury  Lane  that  the  com- 
petition of  Opening  Addresses  was  called  for  by  the  new 
proprietors,  which  has  been  made  memorable  by  the  "  Re- 
jected Addresses"  of  Horace  and  James  Smith,  one  of  the 
few  burlesques  which  have  taken  a  prominent  place  in  lit- 
erature. It  was  a  tradesmanlike  idea  to  propose  such  a 
competition  to  English  poets,  and  the  reader  will  willingly 
excuse  the  touch  of  bitterness  in  Sheridan's  witty  descrip- 
tion of  the  Ode  contributed  by  Whitbread  himself,  which, 
like  most  of  the  addresses,  "  turned  chiefly  on  allusions  to 
the  phoenix."  "But  Whitbread  made  more  of  the  bird 
than  any  of  them,"  Sheridan  said ;  "  he  entered  into  par- 
ticulars and  described  its  wings,  beak,  tail,  etc. ;  in  short, 
it  was  a  poulterer's  description." 

It  was  while  he  was  involved  in  these  painful  contro- 
versies and  struggles  that  Sheridan  lost  his  seat  in  Parlia- 
ment. This  was  the  finishing  blow.  His  person,  so  long 
as  he  was  a  member  of  Parliament,  was  at  least  safe.  He 
could  not  be  arrested  for  debt;  everything  else  that  could 
be  done  had  been  attempted,  but  this  last  indignity  was 
impossible.  Now,  howTever,  that  safeguard  was  removed  ; 
and  for  this  among  other  reasons  his  exclusion  from  Par- 
liament was  to  Sheridan  the  end  of  all  things.  His  pres- 
tige wras  gone,  his  power  over.  It  would  seem  to  be 
certain  that  the  Prince  of  Wales  offered  to  bring  him  in 
for  a  Government  borough ;  but  Sheridan  had  not  fallen 
so  low  as  that.  Once  out  of  Parliament,  however,  the  old 
lion  was  important  to  nobody.     He  could  neither  help  to 


YL]  DECADENCE.  189 

pass  a  measure  nor  bring  his  eloquence  to  the  task  of 
smothering  one.  He  was  powerless  henceforward  in  state 
intrigues,  neither  good  to  veil  a  prince's  designs  nor  to  aid 
a  party  movement.  And,  besides,  he  was  a  poor,  broken- 
down,  dissipated  old  man,  a  character  meriting  no  respect, 
and  for  whom  pity  itself  took  a  disdainful  tone.  He  had 
not  been  less  self-indulgent  when  the  world  vied  in  admi- 
ration and  applause  of  him  ;  but  all  his  triumphs  had  now- 
passed  away,  and  what  had  been  but  the  gay  excess  of  an 
exuberant  life  became  the  disgraceful  habit  of  a  broken 
man.  His  debts,  which  had  been  evaded  and  put  out  of 
sight  so  often,  sprang  up  around  him,  no  more  to  be 
eluded.  Once  he  was  actually  arrested  and  imprisoned 
in  a  sponging-house  for  two  or  three  days,  a  misery  and 
shame  which  fairly  overcame  the  fortitude  of  the  worn- 
out  and  fallen  spirit.  "  On  his  return  home,"  Moore  tells 
us  (some  arrangements  having  been  made  by  Whitbread 
for  his  release),  "  all  his  fortitude  forsook  him,  and  he 
burst  into  a  long  and  passionate  fit  of  weeping  at  the  prof- 
anation, as  he  termed  it,  which  his  person  had  suffered." 
Leigh  Hunt,  in  his  flashy  and  frothy  article,  has  some 
severe  remarks  upon  this  exhibition  of  feeling,  but  few 
people  will  wonder  at  it.  Sheridan  had  been  proud  in 
his  way ;  he  had  carried  his  head  high.  His  own  great 
gifts  had  won  him  a  position  almost  unparalleled ;  he  had 
been  justified  over  and  over  again  in  the  fond  faith  that 
by  some  happy  chance,  some  half  miraculous  effort,  his 
fortunes  might  still  be  righted  and  all  go  well.  Alas !  all 
this  was  over,  hope  and  possibility  were  alike  gone.  Like 
a  man  running  a  desperate  race,  half  stupefied  in  the  rush 
of  haste  and  weariness,  of  trembling  limbs  and  panting 
bosom,  whose  final  stumble  overwhelms  him  with  the  pas- 
sion of  weakness,  here  was  the  point  in  which  every  horror 


190  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

culminated  and  every  power  broke  down.  TLe  sanguine, 
foolish  bravery  of  the  man  was  such  even  then  that  next 
moment  he  was  calculating  upon  the  possibility  of  re-elec- 
tion for  Westminster,  a  seat  which  was  one  of  the  prizes 
sought  by  favourites  of  fortune ;  and,  writing  to  his  solici- 
tor after  his  personal  possessions,  pictures,  books,  and  nick- 
nacks,  had  been  sacrificed,  comforted  him  with  a  cheerful 
"  However,  we  shall  come  through  !" 

Poor  Sheridan  !  the  heart  bleeds  to  contemplate  him  in 
all  his  desperate  shifts,  now  maudlin  in  tears,  now  wild  in 
foolish  gaiety  and  hope.  Prince  and  party  alike  left  him 
to  sink  or  swim  as  he  pleased.  When  it  was  told  him  that 
young  Byron,  the  new  hero  of  society,  had  praised  him 
as  the  writer  of  the  best  comedy,  the  best  opera,  the  best 
oration  of  his  time,  the  veteran  burst  into  tears.  A  com- 
pliment now  was  an  unwonted  delight  to  one  who  had 
received  the  plaudits  of  two  generations,  and  who  had 
moved  men's  minds  as  few  besides  had  been  able  to  do. 
A  little  band  of  friends,  very  few  and  of  no  great  renown, 
-were  steadfast  to  him — Peter  Moore,  M.P.  for  Coventry, 
Samuel  Rogers,  his  physician,  Dr.  Bain,  he  who  had  at- 
tended the  death-bed  of  Mrs.  Sheridan — stood  by  him  faith- 
fully through  all ;  but  he  passed  through  the  difficulties 
of  his  later  years,  and  descended  into  the  valley  of  the 
shadow  of  death,  deserted,  but  for  them,  by  all  who  had 
professed  friendship  for  him.  Lord  Holland,  indeed,  is 
said  to  have  visited  him  once,  and  the  Duke  of  Kent  wrote 
him  a  polite,  regretful  letter  when  he  announced  his  in- 
ability to  attend  a  meeting;  but  not  even  an  inquiry  came 
from  Carlton  House,  and  all  the  statesmen  whom  he  had 
offended,  and  those  to  whom  he  had  long  been  so  faithful 
a  colleague,  deserted  him  unanimously.  When  the  trou- 
bles of  his  later  life  culminated  in  illness  a  more  forlorn 


vi.]  DECADENCE.  191 

being  did  not  exist.  He  had  worn  out  his  excellent  con- 
stitution with  hard  living  and  continual  excesses.  Oceans 
of  potent  port  had  exhausted  his  digestive  organs ;  he  had 
no  longer  either  the  elasticity  of  youth  to  endure,  or  its 
hopeful  prospects  to  bear  hirn  up.  He  was,  indeed,  still 
cheerful,  sanguine,  full  of  plans  and  new  ideas  for  "  get- 
ing  through,"  till  the  very  end.  But  this  had  long  been 
a  matter  beyond  hope.  His  last  days  were  harassed  by 
all  the  miseries  of  poverty — nay,  by  what  is  worse,  the 
miseries  of  indebtedness.  That  he  should  starve  was  im- 
possible ;  but  he  had  worse  to  bear,  he  had  to  encounter 
the  importunities  of  creditors  whom  he  could  not  pay, 
some  at  least  of  whom  were  perhaps  as  much  to  be  pitied 
as  himself.  He  was  not  safe  night  nor  day  from  the  as- 
saults of  the  exasperated  or  despairing.  "  Writs  and  execu- 
tions came  in  rapid  succession,  and  bailiffs  at  length  gained 
possession  of  his  house."  That  house  was  denuded  of 
'everything  that  would  sell  in  it,  and  the  chamber  in  which 
he  lay  dying  was  threatened,  and  in  one  instance  at  least 
invaded  by  sheriff's  officers,  who  would  have  carried  him 
off  wrapped  in  his  blankets,  had  not  Dr.  Bain  interfered, 
and  warned  them  that  his  life  was  at  stake.  One  evening 
Rogers,  on  returning  home  late  at  night,  found  a  despair- 
ing appeal  on  his  table.  "I  find  things  settled  so  that 
£150  will  remove  all  difficulty;  I  am  absolutely  undone 
and  broken-hearted.  I  shall  negotiate  for  the  plays  suc- 
cessfully in  the  course  of  a  week,  when  all  shall  be  re- 
turned. They  are  going  to  put  the  carpets  out  of  the 
window  and  break  into  Mrs.  S.'s  room  and  take  me.  For 
God's  sake  let  me  see  you."  Moore  was  with  Rogers,  and 
vouches  for  this  piteous  demand  on  his  own  authority. 
The  two  poets  turned  out  after  midnight  to  Sheridan's 
house,  and  spoke  over  the  area  rails  to  a  servant,  who  as- 


192  RICHARD  BRIXSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

sured  them  that  all  was  safe  for  the  night.  Miserable 
crisis  so  often  repeated !  In  the  morning  the  money  was 
sent  by  the  hands  of  Moore,  who  gives  this  last  description 
of  the  unfortunate  and  forsaken  : 

"  I  found  Mr.  Sheridan  good-natured  and  cordial,  and  though  he 
was  then  within  a  few  weeks  of  his  death  his  voice  had  not  lost  its 
fulness  or  strength,  nor  was  that  lustre  for  which  his  eyes  were  so 
remarkable  diminished.  He  showed,  too,  his  usual  sanguineness  of 
disposition  in  speaking  of  the  price  he  expected  for  his  dramatic 
works,  and  of  the  certainty  he  felt  of  being  able  to  manage  all  his 
affairs,  if  his  complaint  would  but  suffer  him  to  leave  his  bed." 

Moore  adds,  with  natural  indignation,  that  during  the 
whole  of  his  lingering  illness  "it  does  not  appear  that 
any  one  of  his  noble  or  royal  friends  ever  called  at  his 
door,  or  even  sent  to  inquire  after  him." 

At  last  the  end  came.  When  the  Bishop  of  London, 
sent  for  by  Mrs.  Sheridan,  came  to  visit  the  dying  man, 
she  told  Mr.  Smyth  that  such  a  paleness  of  awe  came  over 
his  face  as  she  could  never  forget.  He  had  never  taken 
time  or  thought  for  the  unseen,  and  the  appearance  of  the 
priest,  like  a  forerunner  of  death  itself,  stunned  and  star- 
tled the  man  whose  life  had  been  occupied  with  far  other 
subjects.  But  he  was  not  one  to  avoid  any  of  the  decent 
and  becoming  preliminaries  that  custom  had  made  indis- 
pensable— nay,  there  was  so  much  susceptibility  to  emo- 
tion in  him,  that  no  doubt  he  was  able  to  find  comfort  in 
the  observances  of  a  death-bed,  even  though  his  mind  was 
little  accustomed  to  religious  thought  or  observance.  Noth- 
ing more  squalid,  more  miserable  and  painful,  than  the 
state  of  his  house  outside  of  the  sick-chamber  could  be. 
When  Smyth  arrived  in  loyal  friendship  and  pity  to  see 
his  old  patron  he  found  the  desecrated  place  in  possession 
of  bailiffs,  and  everything  in  the  chill  disorder  which  such 


vt.]  DECADENCE.  193 

a  miserable  invasion  produces.  Poor  Mrs.  Sheridan,  meet- 
ing him  with  a  kind  of  sprightly  despair,  suggested  that 
he  must  want  food  after  his  journey.  "  I  dare  say  you 
think  there  is  nothing  to  be  had  in  such  a  house ;  but  we 
are  not  so  bad  as  that,"  she  cried.  The  shocked  and  sym- 
pathetic visitor  had  little  heart  to  eat,  as  may  be  supposed, 
and  he  was  profoundly  moved  by  the  description  of  that 
pale  awe  with  which  Sheridan  had  resigned  himself  to  the 
immediate  prospect  of  death. 

In  the  mean  time,  some  one  outside — possibly  Moore 
himself,  though  he  does  not  say  so — had  written  a  letter  to 
the  Morning  Post,  calling  attention  to  the  utter  desertion 
in  which  Sheridan  had  been  left : 

"Oh,  delay  not!"  said  the  writer,  without  naming  the  person  to 
whom  he  alluded  [we  quote  from  Moore] — "  delay  not  to  draw  aside 
the  curtain  within  which  that  proud  spirit  hides  its  sufferings."  He 
then  adds,  with  a  striking  anticipation  of  what  afterwards  happened : 
"  Prefer  ministering  in  the  chamber  of  sickness  to  mustering  at 

1  The  splendid  sorrows  that  adorn  the  hearse.' 

"  I  say  life  and  succour  against  Westminster  Abbey  and  a  funeral. 
This  article  "  [Moore  continues]  "  produced  a  strong  and  general  im- 
pression, and  was  reprinted  in  the  same  paper  the  following  day." 

So  unusual  a  fact  proves  the  interest  which  Sheridan 
still  called  forth  in  the  public  mind.  It  had  so  much  ef- 
fect that  various  high-sounding  names  were  heard  again 
at  Sheridan's  door  among  the  hangers-on  of  the  law  and 
the  disturbed  and  terrified  servants,  who  did  not  know 
when  an  attempt  might  be  made  upon  their  master's  per- 
son, dying  or  dead.  The  card  even  of  the  Duke  of  York, 
the  inquiries  of  peers  or  wealthy  commoners,  to  whom  it 
would  have  been  so  easy  to  conjure  all  Sheridan's  assail- 
ants away,  could  no  longer  help  or  harm  him.  After  a 
9* 


194  RICHARD  BRIXSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

period  of  unconsciousness,  on  a  Sunday  in  July,  in  the 
height  of  summer  and  sunshine,  this  great  ministrant  to 
the  amusement  of  the  world,  this  orator  who  had  swayed 
them  with  his  breath,  died,  like  the  holder  of  a  besieged 
castle,  safe  only  in  the  inmost  citadel,  beset  with  eager 
foes  all  ready  to  rush  in,  and  faithful  servants  glad  that 
he  should  hasten  out  of  the  world  and  escape  the  last  in- 
dignity. Among  the  many  lessons  of  the  vicissitudes  of 
life  with  which  we  are  all  familiar  there  never  was  any 
more  effective.  It  is  like  one  of  the  strained  effects  of 
the  stage,  to  which  Sheridan's  early  reputation  belonged ; 
and  like  a  curious  repetition  of  his  early  and  sudden  fame, 
or  rather  like  the  scornful  commentary  upon  it  of  some 
devilish  cynic  permitted  for  the  moment  to  scoff  at  man- 
kind, is  the  apotheosis  of  his  conclusion.  The  man  who 
was  hustled  into  his  coffin  to  escape  the  touch  which  he 
had  dreaded  so  much  in  life,  that  profanation  of  his  per- 
son which  had  moved  him  to  tears — and  hastily  carried 
forth  in  the  night  to  the  shelter  of  his  friend's  house,  that 
he  might  not  be  arrested,  dead — was  no  sooner  covered 
with  the  funeral  pall  than  dukes  and  princes  volunteered 
to  bear  it.  Two  royal  highnesses,  half  the  dukes  and  earls 
and  barons  of  the  peerage,  followed  him  in  the  guise  of 
mourning  to  Westminster  Abbey,  where  among  the  great- 
est names  of  English  literature,  in  the  most  solemn  and 
splendid  shrine  of  national  honour,  this  spendthrift  of 
genius,  this  prodigal  of  fame,  was  laid  for.  the  first  time 
in  all  his  uneasy  being  to  secure  and  certain  rest.  He  had 
been  born  in  obscurity  —  he  died  in  misery.  Out  of  the 
humblest,  unprovided,  unendowed  poverty  he  had  blazed 
into  reputation,  into  all  the  results  of  great  wealth,  if 
never  to  its  substance ;  more  wonderful  still,  he  had  risen 
to  public  importance  and  splendour,  and  his  name  can 


vi.]  DECADENCE. 

never  be  obliterated  from  the  page  of  history ;  but  had 
fallen  again,  down,  down  into  desertion,  misery,  and  the 
deepest  degradation  of  a  poverty  for  which  there  was  nei- 
ther hope  nor  help  :  till  death  wiped  out  all  possibilities 
of  further  trouble  or  embarrassment,  and  Sheridan  became 
once  more  in  his  coffin  the  great  man  whom  his  party 
delighted  to  honour — a  national  name  and  credit,  one  of 
those  whose  glory  illustrates  our  annals.  It  may  be  per- 
mitted now  to  doubt  whether  these  last  mournful  honours 
were  not  more  than  his  real  services  to  England  deserved ; 
but  at  the  moment  it  was,  no  doubt,  a  fine  thing  that  the 
poor,  hopeless  "Sherry"  whom  everybody  admired  and 
despised,  whom  no  one  but  a  few  faithful  friends  would 
risk  the  trouble  of  helping,  who  had  sunk  away  out  of  all 
knowledge  into  endless  debts,  and  duns,  and  drink,  should 
rise  in  an  instant  as  soon  as  death  had  stilled  his  troubles 
into  the  Right  Honourable,  brilliant,  and  splendid  Sher- 
idan, whose  enchanter's  wand  the  stubborn  Pitt  had  bowed 
under,  and  the  noble  Burke  acknowledged  with  enthusi- 
asm. It  was  a  fine  thing ;  but  the  finest  thing  was  that 
death,  which  in  England  makes  all  glory  possible,  and 
which  restores  to  the  troublesome  bankrupt,  the  unfortu- 
nate prodigal,  and  all  stray  sons  of  fame,  at  one  stroke, 
their  friends,  their  reputation,  and  the  abundant  tribute 
which  it  might  have  been  dangerous  to  afford  them  living, 
but  with  which  it  is  both  safe  and  prudent  to  glorify  their 
tomb.  So  Scotland  did  to  Burns,  letting  him  suffer  all 
the  tortures  of  a  proud  spirit  for  want  of  a  ten-pound 
note,  but  sending  a  useless  train  of  local  gentry  to  attend 
him  to  his  grave — and  so  the  Whig  peers  and  potentates 
did  to  Sheridan,  who  had  been  their  equal  and  companion. 
Such  things  repeat  themselves  in.  the  history  of  the  gen- 
erations, but  no  one  takes  the  lesson,  though  every  one 


,196  RICHARD  BRIXSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

comments  upon  it.  Men  of  letters  have  ceased,  to  a  great 
extent,  to  be  improvident  and  spendthrifts,  and  seldom 
require  to  be  picked  out  of  ruin  by  their  friends  and  dis- 
ciples in  these  days ;  but  who  can  doubt  that,  were  there 
another  Sheridan  amongst  us,  his  fate  would  be  the 
same  ? 

It  has  to  be  added,  however,  that  had  the  great  people 
who  did  nothing  for  him  stepped  in  to  relieve  Sheridan 
and  prolong  his  life,  nothing  is  more  probable  than  that 
the  process  would  have  had  to  be  repeated  from  time  to 
time,  as  was  done  for  Lamartine  in  France,  since  men  do 
not  learn  economy,  or  the  wise  use  of  their  means,  after  a 
long  life  of  reckless  profusion.  But  he  had  gained  noth- 
ing by  his  political  career,  in  which  most  of  the  politicians 
of  the  time  gained  so  much,  and  it  is  said  that  his  liabili- 
ties came  to  no  more  than  £4000,  for  which  sum  surely  it 
was  not  meet  to  suffer  such  a  man  to  be  hunted  to  his 
grave  by  clamorous  creditors,  however  just  their  claim 
or  natural  their  exasperation.  Somebody  said,  in  natural 
enthusiasm,  when  it  was  announced  that  the  author  of 
Waverley  was  overwhelmed  with  debts,  "Let  every  one 
to  whom  he  has  given  pleasure  give  him  sixpence,  and  he 
will  be  the  richest  man  in  Europe."  Yes  !  but  the  saying 
remained  a  very  pretty  piece  of  good-nature  and  pleasing 
appreciation,  no  one  attempting  to  carry  its  suggestion 
out.  Sir  Walter  would  have  accepted  no  public  charity, 
but  a  public  offering  on  such  a  grand  scale,  had  it  ever 
been  offered,  would  not  have  shamed  the  proudest.  These 
things  are  easy  to  say;  the  doing  only  fails  in  our  practi- 
cal British  race  with  a  curious  consistency.  It  is  well  that 
every  man  should  learn  that  his  own  exertions  are  his  only 
trust;  but  when  that  is  said  it  is  not  all  that  there  should 
be  to  say. 


vi.]  DECADENCE.  197 

"  Where  were  they,  these  royal  and  noble  persons  "  [Moore  cries, 
with  natural  fervour  of  indignation],  "  who  now  crowded  to  '  partake 
the  yoke '  of  Sheridan's  glory ;  where  were  they  all  while  any  life  re- 
mained in  him  ?  Where  were  they  all  but  a  few  weeks  before,  when 
their  interposition  might  have  saved  his  heart  from  breaking  ?  or 
when  the  zeal  now  wasted  on  the  grave  might  have  soothed  and 
comforted  the  death-bed  ?  This  is  a  subject  on  which  it  is  difficult 
to  speak  with  patience.  If  the  man  was  unworthy  of  the  commonest 
offices  of  humanity  while  he  lived,  why  all  this  parade  of  regret  and 
homage  over  his  tomb  ?" 

And  he  adds  the  following  verses  which  "  appeared,"  he 
says,  "  at  the  time,  and,  however  intemperate  in  their  satire 
and  careless  in  their  style,  came  evidently  warm  from  the 
breast  of  the  writer  "  (himself) : 

"  Oh !  it  sickens  the  heart  to  see  bosoms  so  hollow, 

And  friendships  so  false  in  the  great  and  high-born ; 
To  think  what  a  long  line  of  titles  may  follow 
The  relics  of  him  who  died  friendless  and  lorn. 

"  How  proud  they  can  press  to  the  funeral  array 

Of  him  whom  they  shunned  in  his  sickness  and  sorrow ; 
How  bailiffs  may  seize  his  last  blanket  to-day, 

Whose  pall  shall  be  held  up  by  nobles  to-morrow." 

When  all  these  details  which  move  the  heart  out  of  the 
composedness  of  criticism  are  put  aside  we  scarcely  feel 
ourselves  in  a  position  to  echo  the  lavish  praises  which 
have  been  showered  upon  Sheridan.  He  was  no  con- 
scientious workman  labouring  his  field,  but  an  abrupt 
and  hasty  wayfarer  snatching  at  the  golden  apples  where 
they  grew,  and  content  with  one  violent  abundance  of 
harvesting.  He  had  no  sooner  gained  the  highest  suc- 
cesses which  the  theatre  could  give  than  he  abandoned 
that  scene  of  triumph  for  a  greater  one;  and  when — on 
that  more  glorious  stage — he  had  produced  one  of  the 


198  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

most  striking  sensations  known  to  English  political  life, 
Lis  interest  in  that  also  waned,  and  a  broken,  occasional 
effort  now  and  then  only  served  to  show  what  he  might 
have  accomplished  had  it  been  continuous.  If  he  had 
been  free  of  the  vices  that  pulled  him  to  earth,  and  pos- 
sessed of  the  industry  and  persistency  which  were  not  in 
his  nature,  he  would,  with  scarcely  any  doubt,  have  left 
both  fortune  and  rank  to  his  descendants.  As  it  was  in 
everything  he  did,  he  but  scratched  the  soil.  Those  who 
believe  that  the  conditions  under  which  a  man  does  his 
work  are  those  which  are  best  adapted  to  his  genius  will 
comfort  themselves  that  there  was  nothing  beyond  this 
fertile  surface,  soon  exhausted  and  capable  of  but  one 
overflowing  crop  and  no  more,  and  there  is  a  completeness 
and  want  of  suggestion  in  his  literary  work  which  favours 
this  idea.  But  the  other  features  of  his  life  are  equally 
paradoxical  and  extraordinary ;  the  remarkable  financial 
operations  which  must  have  formed  the  foundation  of  his 
career  were  combined  with  the  utmost  practical  deficiency 
in  the  same  sphere ;  and  his  faculty  for  business,  for  nego- 
tiation, explanation,  copious  letter-writing,  and  statement  of 
opinion,  contrast  as  strangely  with  the  absolute  indolence 
which  seems  to  have  distinguished  his  life.  He  could 
conjure  great  sums  of  money  out  of  nothing,  out  of  va- 
cancy, to  buy  his  theatre,  and  set  himself  up  in  a  lavish 
and  prodigal  life,  but  he  could  not  keep  his  private  affairs 
out  of  the  most  hopeless  confusion.  He  could  arrange 
the  terms  of  a  Regency  and  outwit  a  party,  but  he  could 
not  read,  much  less  reply  to,  the  letters  addressed  to  him, 
or  keep  any  sort  of  order  in  the  private  business  on  his 
hands.  Finally,  and  perhaps  most  extraordinary  of  all,  he 
could  give  in  The  Critic  the  deathblow  to  false  tragedy, 
then   write  the  bombast  of  Rolla,  and  prepare  Pizarro 


Yi.]  DECADENCE.  199 

for  the  stage.  Through  all  these  contradictions  Sheridan 
blazed  and  exploded  from  side  to  side  in  a  reckless  yet 
rigid  course,  like  a  gigantic  and  splendid  piece  of  fire- 
work, his  follies  repeating  themselves,  his  inability  to  fol- 
low up  success,  and  careless  abandonment  of  one  way  after 
another  that  might  have  led  to  a  better  and  happier  fort- 
une. He  had  a  fit  of  writing,  a  fit  of  oratory,  but  no  im- 
pulse to  keep  him  in  either  path  long  enough  to  make 
anything  more  than  the  dazzling  but  evanescent  triumph 
of  a  day.  His  harvest  was  like  a  Southern  harvest,  over 
early,  while  it  was  yet  but  May  ;  but  he  sowed  no  seed  for 
a  second  ingathering,  nor  was  there  any  growth  or  rich- 
ness left  in  the  soon  exhausted  soil. 

Sheridan's  death  took  place  July  7,  1816,  when  he  was 
nearly  sixty-five,  after  more  than  thirty  years  of  active 
political  life.  His  boyish  reputation,  won  before  this  be- 
gan, has  outlasted  all  that  high  place,  extraordinary  oppor- 
tunity, and  not  less  extraordinary  success,  could  do  for  his 
name  and  fame. 


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